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A  PRISONER   IN   FAIRYLAND 


Ol 


MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •  BOMBAY  •  CALCUTTA  •  MADRAS 

MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW   YORK    •    BOSTON    •    CHICAGO 
DALLAS    •   SAN    FRANCISCO 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


A    PRISONER    IN 
FAIRYLAND 


(THE  BOOK  THAT  'UNCLE  PAUL'  WROTE) 


BY 


ALGERNON    BLACKWOOD 

iii 

AUTHOR    OF    'jIMBO,'     '  JOHN    SILENCE,' 
'  THE    CENTAUR,'    '  EDUCATION    OF    UNCLE    PAUL,'     ETC. 


MACMILLAN    AND    CO.,    LIMITED 
ST.   MARTIN'S    STREET,   LONDON 

1925 


ci.2- 


COPYRIGHT 

Pocket  Edition  1913 
Reprinted  1914,  1917,  191S,  1920,  1922,  1925 


PRINTED  IN  GREAT  BRTTAIN 


TO 

'  LITTLE    MOUSE    THAT,    LOST    IN    WONDER, 
FLICKS    ITS    WHISKERS    AT    THE    THUNDER  i  * 


The  Illustration  on  the  Title-page,  *  Per  aspera  ad  astra,' 
by  K.  IV.  Diefenbach,  is  reproduced  by  permission  of 
B.  G.  Teubner,  Leipzig,  to  whom  the  copyright  belongs. 


**  Les  Pens^es  ! 
O  leurs  essors  fougueux,  leurs  flammes  disperses, 
Leur  rouge  acharnement  ou  leur  accord  vermeil ! 
Comme  la-haut  les  etoiles  criblaient  la  nue, 
Elles  se  constellaient  sur  la  plaine  inconnue  ; 
Elles  roulaient  dans  l'espace,  telles  des  feux, 
Gravissaient  la  montagne,  illuminaient  la  fleuve 
Et  jetaient  leur  parure  universelle  et  neuve 
De  mer  en  mer,  sur  les  pays  silencieux." 

Le  Monde..,  Emile  Verhaeren 


CHAPTER   I 

Man  is  his  own  star  ;  and  the  soul  that  can 
Render  an  honest  and  a  perfect  man 
Commands  all  light,  all  influence,  all  fate, 
Nothing  to  him  falls  early,  or  too  late. 
Our  acts  our  angels  are,  or  good  or  ill, 
Our  fatal  shadows  that  walk  by  us  still. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

Minks — Herbert  Montmorency — was  now  some- 
thing more  than  secretary,  even  than  private 
secretary  :  he  was  confidential  -  private  -  secretary, 
adviser,  friend  ;  and  this,  more  because  he  was  a  safe 
receptacle  for  his  employer's  enthusiasms  than 
because  his  advice  or  judgment  had  any  exceptional 
value.  So  many  men  need  an  audience.  Herbert 
Minks  was  a  fine  audience,  attentive,  delicately 
responsive,  sympathetic,  understanding,  and  above  all 
— silent.  He  did  not  leak.  Also,  his  applause  was 
wise  without  being  noisy.  Another  rare  quality  he 
possessed  was  that  he  was  honest  as  the  sun.  To 
prevaricate,  even  by  gesture,  or  by  saying  nothing, 
which  is  the  commonest  form  of  untruth,  was  im- 
possible to  his  transparent  nature.  He  might  hedge, 
but  he  could  never  lie.  And  he  was  c  friend,'  so  far 
as  this  was  possible  between  employer  and  employed, 
because  a  pleasant  relationship  of  years'  standing  had 
established  a  bond  of  mutual  respect  under  conditions 
of  business  intimacy  which  often  tend  to  destroy  it. 
Just  now  he  was  very  important  into  the  bargain, 

I  b 


A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

for  he  had  a  secret  from  his  wife  that  he  meant  to 
divulge  only  at  the  proper  moment.  He  had  known 
it  himself  but  a  few  hours.  The  leap  from  being 
secretary  in  one  of  Henry  Rogers's  companies 
to  being  that  prominent  gentleman's  confidential 
private  secretary  was,  of  course,  a  very  big  one.  He 
hugged  it  secretly  at  first  alone.  On  the  journey 
back  from  the  City  to  the  suburb  where  he  lived, 
Minks  made  a  sonnet  on  it.  For  his  emotions 
invariably  sought  the  safety  valve  of  verse.  It  was  a 
wiser  safety  valve  for  high  spirits  than  horse-racing 
or  betting  on  the  football  results,  because  he  always 
stood  to  win,  and  never  to  lose.  Occasionally  he 
sold  these  bits  of  joy  for  half  a  guinea,  his  wife 
pasting  the  results  neatly  in  a  big  press  album  from 
which  he  often  read  aloud  on  Sunday  nights  when 
the  children  were  in  bed.  They  were  signed  {  Mont- 
morency Minks  '  ;  and  bore  evidence  of  occasional 
pencil  corrections  on  the  margin  with  a  view  to 
publication  later  in  a  volume.  And  sometimes  there 
were  little  lyrical  fragments  too,  in  a  wild,  original 
metre,  influenced  by  Shelley  and  yet  entirely  his  own. 
These  had  special  pages  to  themselves  at  the  end  of 
the  big  book.  But  usually  he  preferred  the  sonnet 
form  ;  it  was  more  sober,  more  dignified.  And 
just  now  the  bumping  of  the  Tube  train  shaped  his 
emotion  into  something  that  began  with 

Success  that  poisons  many  a  baser  mind 
With  thoughts  of  self,  may  lift 

but  stopped  there  because,  when  he  changed  into 
another  train,  the  jerkier  movement  altered  the 
rhythm  into  something  more  lyrical,  and  he  got 
somewhat  confused  between  the  two  and  ended  by 
losing  both. 


,  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  3 

He  walked  up  the  hill  towards  his  tiny  villa, 
hugging  his  secret  and  anticipating  with  endless 
detail  how  he  would  break  it  to  his  wife.  He  felt 
very  proud  and  very  happy.  The  half-mile  trudge 
seemed  like  a  ftw  yards. 

He  was  a  slim,  rather  insignificant  figure  of  a 
man,  neatly  dressed,  the  City  clerk  stamped  plainly 
over  all  his  person.  He  envied  his  employer's  burly 
six-foot  stature,  but  comforted  himself  always  with 
the  thought  that  he  possessed  in  its  place  a  certain 
delicacy  that  was  more  becoming  to  a  man  of  letters 
whom  an  adverse  fate  prevented  from  being  a  regular 
minor  poet.  There  was  that  touch  of  melancholy  in 
his  fastidious  appearance  that  suggested  the  atmo- 
sphere of  frustrated  dreams.  Only  the  firmness  of 
his  character  and  judgment  decreed  against  the  luxury 
of  longish  hair  ;  and  he  prided  himself  upon  re- 
membering that  although  a  poet  at  heart,  he  was 
outwardly  a  City  clerk  and,  as  a  strong  man,  must 
permit  no  foolish  compromise. 

His  face  on  the  whole  was  pleasing,  and  rather 
soft,  yet,  owing  to  this  warring  of  opposing  inner 
forces,  it  was  at  the  same  time  curiously  deceptive. 
Out  of  that  dreamy,  vague  expression  shot,  when 
least  expected,  the  hard  and  practical  judgment  of 
the  City — or  vice  versa.  But  the  whole  was  gentle 
— admirable  quality  for  an  audience,  since  it  invited 
confession  and  assured  a  gentle  hearing.  No  harsh- 
ness lay  there.  Herbert  Minks  might  have  been  a 
fine,  successful  mother  perhaps.  The  one  drawback 
to  the  physiognomy  was  that  the  mild  blue  eyes  were 
never  quite  united  in  their  frank  gaze.  He  squinted 
pleasantly,  though  his  wife  told  him  it  was  a  fascinat- 
ing cast  rather  than  an  actual  squint.  The  chin, 
too,  ran  away  a  little  from  the  mouth,  and  the  lips 


4  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

were  usually  parted.  There  was,  at  any  rate,  this 
air  of  incompatibility  of  temperament  between  the 
features  which  made  all  claim  to  good  looks  out  of 
the  question. 

That  runaway  chin,  however,  was  again  deceptive. 
It  did,  indeed  run  off,  but  the  want  of  decision  it 
gave  to  the  countenance  seemed  contradicted  by  the 
prominent  forehead  and  straight  eyebrows,  heavily 
marked.  Minks  knew  his  mind.  If  sometimes 
evasive  rather  than  outspoken,  he  could  on  occasion 
be  surprisingly  firm.  He  saw  life  very  clearly.  He 
could  certainly  claim  the  good  judgment  stupid 
people  sometimes  have,  due  perhaps  to  their  inability 
to  see  alternatives — just  as  some  men's  claim  to 
greatness  is  born  of  an  audacity  due  to  their  total 
lack  of  humour. 

Minks  was  one  of  those  rare  beings  who  may  be 
counted  on — a  quality  better  than  mere  brains,  being 
of  the  heart.  And  Henry  Rogers  understood  him 
and  read  him  like  an  open  book.  Preferring  the 
steady  devotion  to  the  brilliance  a  high  salary  may 
buy,  he  had  watched  him  for  many  years  in  every  sort 
of  circumstance.  He  had,  by  degrees,  here  and  there, 
shown  an  interest  in  his  life.  He  had  chosen  his  private 
secretary  well.  With  Herbert  Minks  at  his  side  he 
might  accomplish  many  things  his  heart  was  set  upon. 
And  while  Minks  bumped  down  in  his  third-class 
crowded  carriage  to  Sydenham,  hunting  his  evasive 
sonnet,  Henry  Rogers  glided  swiftly  in  a  taxi-cab  to 
his  rooms  in  St.  James's  Street,  hard  on  the  trail  of 
another  dream  that  seemed,  equally,  to  keep  just 
beyond  his  actual  reach. 

It  would  certainly  seem  that  thought  can  travel 
across  space  between  minds  sympathetically  in  tune, 
for  just   as  the  secretary  put  his  latch-key  into  his 


,  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  5 

shiny  blue  door  the  idea  flashed  through  him,  '  I 
wonder  what  Mr.  Rogers  will  do,  now  that  he's  got 
his  leisure,  with  a  fortune  and — me  !  '  And  at  the 
same  moment  Rogers,  in  his  deep  arm-chair  before 
the  fire,  was  saying  to  himself,  '  I'm  glad  Minks  has 
come  to  me  ;  he's  just  the  man  I  want  for  my  big 
Scheme  !  '  And  then — '  Pity  he's  such  a  lugubrious 
looking  fellow,  and  wears  those  dreadful  fancy  waist- 
coats. But  he's  very  open  to  suggestion.  We  can 
change  all  that.  I  must  look  after  Minks  a  bit. 
He's  rather  sacrificed  his  career  for  me,  I  fancy. 
He's  got  high  aims.     Poor  little  Minks  ! ' 

*  I'll  stand  by  him  whatever  happens,'  was  the 
thought  the  slamming  of  the  blue  door  interrupted. 
'  To  be  secretary  to  such  a  man  is  already  success.' 
And  again  he  hugged  his  secret  and  himself. 

As  already  said,  the  new-fledged  secretary  was 
married  and  wrote  poetry  on  the  sly.  He  had  four 
children.  He  would  make  an  ideal  helpmate,  wor- 
shipping his  employer  with  that  rare  quality  of  being 
interested  in  his  ideas  and  aims  beyond  the  mere 
earning  of  a  salary  ;  seeing,  too,  in  that  employer 
more  than  he,  the  latter,  supposed.  For,  while  he 
wrote  verses  on  the  sly,  c  my  chief,'  as  he  now  pre- 
ferred to  call  him,  lived  poetry  in  his  life. 

'  He's  got  it,  you  know,  my  dear,'  he  announced 
to  his  wife,  as  he  kissed  her  and  arranged  his  tie 
in  the  gilt  mirror  over  the  plush  mantelpiece  in 
the  '  parlour '  ;  '  he's  got  the  divine  thing  in  him 
right  enough  ;  got  it,  too,  as  strong  as  hunger  or 
any  other  natural  instinct.  It's  almost  functional 
with  him,  if  I  may  say  so '  —  which  meant  '  if 
you  can  understand  me  '— '  only,  he's  deliberately 
smothered  it  all  these  years.  He  thinks  it  wouldn't 
go  down  with  other  business  men.     And  he's  been 


6  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

in  business,  you  see,  from  the  word  go.  He  meant 
to  make  money,  and  he  couldn't  do  both  exactly. 
Just  like  myself ' 

Minks  wandered  on.  His  wife  noticed  the  new 
enthusiasm  in  his  manner,  and  was  puzzled  by  it. 
Something  was  up,  she  divined. 

'  Do  you  think  he'll  raise  your  salary  again  soon  ? ' 
she  asked  practically,  helping  him  draw  off  the  paper 
cuffs  that  protected  his  shirt  from  ink  stains,  and 
throwing  them  in  the  fire.  '  That  seems  to  be  the 
real  point.' 

But  Herbert  evaded  the  immediate  issue.  It  was 
so  delightful  to  watch  her  and  keep  his  secret  a  little 
longer. 

'  And  you  do  deserve  success,  dear,'  she  added  ; 
'  you've  been  as  faithful  as  a  horse.'  She  came  closer, 
and  stroked  his  thick,  light  hair  a  moment. 

He  turned  quickly.  Had  he  betrayed  himself 
already  ?     Had  she  read  it  from  his  eyes  or  manner  ? 

'  That's  nothing,'  he  answered  lightly.  *  Duty 
is  duty.' 

'  Of  course,  dear,'  and  she  brought  him  his 
slippers.  He  would  not  let  her  put  them  on  for 
him.  It  was  not  gallant  to  permit  menial  services  to 
a  woman. 

'Success,'   he   murmured,   'that   poisons  many  a 

baser  mind '  and  then  stopped  short.      '  I've  got 

a  new  sonnet,'  he  told  her  quickly,  determined  to 
prolong  his  pleasure,  '  got  it  in  the  train  coming 
home.  Wait  a  moment,  and  I'll  give  you  the  rest. 
It's  a  beauty,  with  real  passion  in  it,  only  I  want  to 
keep  it  cold  and  splendid  if  I  can.  Don't  interrupt 
a  moment.'  He  put  the  slippers  on  the  wrong  feet 
and  stared  hard  into  the  fire. 

Then  Mrs.  Minks  knew  for  a  certainty  that  some- 


i  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  7 

thing  had  happened.  He  had  not  even  asked  after 
the  children. 

'  Herbert,'  she  said,  with  a  growing  excitement, 
'  why  are  you  so  full  of  poetry  to-night  ?  And 
what's  this  about  success  and  poison  all  of  a  sudden  ? ' 
She  knew  he  never  drank.  '  I  believe  Mr.  Rogers 
has  raised  your  salary,  or  done  one  of  those  fine  things 
you  always  say  he's  going  to  do.  Tell  me,  dear, 
please  tell  me.'  There  were  new,  unpaid  bills  in 
her  pocket,  and  she  almost  felt  tempted  to  show 
them.     She  poked  the  fire  fussily. 

'  Albinia,'  he  answered  importantly,  with  an 
expression  that  brought  the  chin  up  closer  to  the 
lips,  and  made  the  eyebrows  almost  stern,  '  Mr. 
Rogers  will  do  the  right  thing  always — when  the 
right  time  comes.  As  a  matter  of  fact ' — here  he 
reverted  to  the  former  train  of  thought — '  both  he 
and  I  are  misfits  in  a  practical,  sordid  age.  We  should 
have  been  born  in  Greece ' 

'  1  simply  love  your  poems,  Herbert,'  she  inter- 
rupted gently,  wondering  how  she  managed  to  conceal 
her  growing  impatience  so  well,  '  but  there's  not  the 
money  in  them  that  there  ought  to  be,  and  they  don't 
pay  for  coals  or  for  Ronald's  flannels ' 

'  Albinia,'  he  put  in  softly,  '  they  relieve  the  heart, 
and  so  make  me  a  happier  and  a  better  man.  But — 
I  should  say  he  would,'  he  added,  answering  her 
distant  question  about  the  salary. 

The  secret  was  almost  out.  It  hung  on  the  edge 
of  his  lips.  A  moment  longer  he  hugged  it  delici- 
ously.  He  loved  these  little  conversations  with  his 
wife.  Never  a  shade  of  asperity  entered  into  them. 
And  this  one  in  particular  afforded  him  a  peculiar 
delight. 

'  Both  of  us  are  made  for  higher  things  than  mere 


8  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

money-making,'  he  went  on,  lighting  his  calabash 
pipe  and  puffing  the  smoke  carefully  above  her  head 
from  one  corner  of  his  mouth,  '  and  that's  what  first 
attracted  us  to  each  other,  as  I  have  often  mentioned 
to  you.  But  now ' — his  bursting  heart  breaking 
through  all  control — '  that  he  has  sold  his  interests 
to  a  company  and  retired  into  private  life — er — my 
own  existence  should  be  easier  and  less  exacting.  I 
shall  have  less  routine,  be  more  my  own  master,  and 
also,  I  trust,  find  time  perhaps  for ' 

'  Then  something  has  happened  ! '  cried  Mrs. 
Minks,  springing  to  her  feet. 

'  It  has,  my  dear,'  he  answered  with  forced  calm- 
ness, though  his  voice  was  near  the  trembling  point. 

She  stood  in  front  of  him,  waiting.  But  he  him- 
self did  not  rise,  nor  show  more  feeling  than  he  could 
help.  His  poems  were  full  of  scenes  like  this  in 
which  the  men — strong,  silent  fellows — were  fine  and 
quiet.  Yet  his  instinct  was  to  act  quite  otherwise. 
One  eye  certainly  betrayed  it. 

*  It  has,'  he  repeated,  full  of  delicious  emotion. 

'  Oh,  but  Herbert ! ' 

'  And  I  am  no  longer  that  impersonal  factor  in 
City  life,  mere  secretary  to  the  Board  of  a  com- 
pany  ' 

'  Oh,  Bertie,  dear  ! ' 

'  But  private  secretary  to  Mr.  Henry  Rogers — 
private  and  confidential  secretary  at ' 

'  Bert,  darling ! ' 

'At  ^300  a  year,  paid  quarterly,  with  expenses 
extra,  and  long,  regular  holidays,'  he  concluded  with 
admirable  dignity  and  self-possession. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

'  You  splendour  !  '  She  gave  a  little  gasp  of 
admiration  that  went  straight  to  his  heart,  and  set 


,  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  9 

big  fires  alight  there.  *  Your  reward  has  come  at 
last  1      My  hero  ! ' 

This  was  as  it  should  be.  The  beginning  of  an 
epic  poem  flashed  with  tumult  through  his  blood. 
Yet  outwardly  he  kept  his  admirable  calm. 

'  My  dear,  we  must  take  success,  like  disaster, 
quietly.'  He  said  it  gently,  as  when  he  played  with 
the  children.  It  was  mostly  put  on,  of  course,  this 
false  grandiloquence  of  the  prig.  His  eyes  already 
twinkled  more  than  he  could  quite  disguise. 

1  Then  we  can  manage  the  other  school,  perhaps, 
for  Frank  ? '  she  cried,  and  was  about  to  open  various 
flood-gates  when  he  stopped  her  with  a  look  of  proud 
happiness  that  broke  down  all  barriers  of  further 
pretended  secrecy. 

'  Mr.  Rogers,'  was  the  low  reply,  '  has  offered  to 
do  that  for  us — as  a  start.'  The  words  were  leisurely 
spoken  between  great  puffs  of  smoke.  '  That's  what 
I  meant  just  now  by  saying  that  he  lived  poetry  in 
his  life,  you  see.  Another  time  you  will  allow  judg- 
ment to  wait  on  knowledge ' 

1  You  dear  old  humbug,'  she  cried,  cutting  short 
the  sentence  that  neither  of  them  quite  understood, 
'  I  believe  you've  known  this  for  weeks ' 

'  Two  hours  ago  exactly,'  he  corrected  her, 
and  would  willingly  have  prolonged  the  scene  in- 
definitely had  not  his  practical  better  half  prevented 
him.  For  she  came  over,  dropped  upon  her  knees 
beside  his  chair,  and,  putting  both  arms  about  his 
neck,  she  kissed  his  foolish  sentences  away  with  all 
the  pride  and  tenderness  that  filled  her  to  the  brim. 
And  it  pleased  Minks  hugely.  It  made  him  feel,  for 
the  moment  at  any  rate,  that  he  was  the  hero,  not 
Mr.  Henry  Rogers. 

But  he  did  not  show  his  emotion  much.     He  did 


lo  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        ch.  i 

not  even  take  his  pipe  out.  It  slipped  down  side- 
ways into  another  corner  of  his  wandering  lips.  And, 
while  he  returned  the  kiss  with  equal  tenderness  and 
pleasure,  one  mild  blue  eye  looked  down  upon  her 
soft  brown  hair,  and  the  other  glanced  sideways, 
without  a  trace  of  meaning  in  it,  at  the  oleograph  of 
Napoleon  on  Elba  that  hung  upon  the  wall.   .   .   . 

Soon  afterwards  the  little  Sydenham  villa  was  barred 
and  shuttered,  the  four  children  were  sound  asleep, 
Herbert  and  Albinia  Minks  both  lost  in  the  world  of 
happy  dreams  that  sometimes  visit  honest,  simple  folk 
whose  consciences  are  clean  and  whose  aims  in  life  are 
commonplace  but  worthy. 


CHAPTER   II 

When  the  creation  was  new  and  all  the  stars  shone  In  their  first  splendour, 
the  gods  held  their  assembly  in  the  sky  and  sang  'Oh,  the  picture  of  per- 
fection !   the  joy  unalloyed  ! ' 

But  one  cried  of  a  sudden — '  It  seems  that  somewhere  there  is  a  break  in  the 
chain  of  light  and  one  of  the  stars  has  been  lost.' 

The  golden  string  of  their  harp  snapped,  their  song  stopped,  and  they  cried 
in  dismay — '  Yes,  that  lost  star  was  the  best,  she  was  the  glory  of  all  heavens  ! ' 

From  that  day  the  search  is  unceasing  for  her,  and  the  cry  goes  on  from  one 
to  the  other  that  in  her  the  world  has  lost  its  one  joy  ! 

Only  in  the  deepest  silence  of  night  the  stars  smile  and  whisper  among 
themselves — 'Vain  is  this  seeking  !     Unbroken  perfection  is  over  all  ! ' 

Rabindranath  Tagore. 
(Prose  translation  by  Author  from  his  original  Bengali.) 

It  was  April  30th  and  Henry  Rogers  sat  in  his 
rooms  after  breakfast,  listening  to  the  rumble  of  the 
traffic  down  St.  James's  Street,  and  found  the  morn- 
ing dull.  A  pile  of  letters  lay  unopened  upon  the 
table,  waiting  the  arrival  of  the  discriminating  Mr. 
Minks  with  his  shorthand  note-book  and  his  mild 
blue  eyes.  It  was  half-past  nine,  and  the  secretary 
was  due  at  ten  o'clock. 

He  smiled  as  he  thought  of  this  excellent  fellow's 
first  morning  in  the  promoted  capacity  of  private 
secretary.  He  would  come  in  very  softly,  one  eye 
looking  more  intelligent  than  the  other  ;  the  air  of 
the  City  clerk  discarded,  and  in  its  place  the  bearing 
that  belonged  to  new  robes  of  office  worn  for  the 
first  time.  He  would  bow,  say  '  Good  morning, 
Mr.  Rogers,'  glance  round  with  one  eye  on  his 
employer  and  another  on  a  possible  chair,  seat  him- 

11 


12         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

self  with  a  sigh  that  meant  '  I  have  written  a  new 
poem  in  the  night,  and  would  love  to  read  it  to  you 
if  I  dared,'  then  flatten  out  his  oblong  note-book  and 
look  up,  expectant  and  receptive.  Rogers  would  say 
'  Good  morning,  Mr.  Minks.     We've  got  a  busy  day 

before  us.     Now,  let  me  see '  and  would  meet  his 

glance  with  welcome.  He  would  look  quickly  from 
one  eye  to  the  other — to  this  day  he  did  not  know 
which  one  was  right  to  meet — and  would  wonder  for 
the  thousandth  time  how  such  an  insignificant  face 
could  go  with  such  an  honest,  capable  mind.  Then 
he  smiled  again  as  he  remembered  Frank,  the  little 
boy  whose  schooling  he  was  paying  for,  and  realised 
that  Minks  would  bring  a  message  of  gratitude  from 
Mrs.  Minks,  perhaps  would  hand  him,  with  a  gesture 
combining  dignity  and  humbleness,  a  little  note  of 
thanks  in  a  long  narrow  envelope  of  pale  mauve, 
bearing  a  flourishing  monogram  on  its  back. 

And  Rogers  scowled  a  little  as  he  thought  of  the 
air  of  gruffness  he  would  assume  while  accepting  it, 
saying  as  pleasantly  as  he  could  manage,  '  Oh,  Mr. 
Minks,  that's  nothing  at  all ;  I'm  only  too  delighted 
to  be  of  service  to  the  lad.'  For  he  abhorred  the 
expression  of  emotion,  and  his  delicate  sense  of  tact 
would  make  pretence  of  helping  the  boy  himself, 
rather  than  the  struggling  parents. 

Au  fond  he  had  a  genuine  admiration  for  Minks, 
and  there  was  something  lofty  in  the  queer  per- 
sonality that  he  both  envied  and  respected.  It  made 
him  rely  upon  his  judgment  in  certain  ways  he  could 
not  quite  define.  Minks  seemed  devoid  of  personal 
ambition  in  a  sense  that  was  not  weakness.  He  was 
not  insensible  to  the  importance  of  money,  nor 
neglectful  of  chances  that  enabled  him  to  do  well  by 
his  wife  and   family,  but — he  was  after  other  things 


„  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  13 

as  well,  if  not  chiefly.  With  a  childlike  sense  of 
honesty  he  had  once  refused  a  position  in  a  company 
that  was  not  all  it  should  have  been,  and  the  high 
pay  thus  rejected  pointed  to  a  scrupulous  nicety  of 
view  that  the  City,  of  course,  deemed  foolishness. 
And  Rogers,  aware  of  this,  had  taken  to  him,  seek- 
ing as  it  were  to  make  this  loss  good  to  him  in 
legitimate  ways.  Also  the  fellow  belonged  to 
leagues  and  armies  and  '  things,'  quixotic  some  of 
them,  that  tried  to  lift  humanity.  That  is,  he  gave 
of  his  spare  time,  as  also  of  his  spare  money,  to  help. 
His  Saturday  evenings,  sometimes  a  whole  bank 
holiday,  he  devoted  to  the  welfare  of  others,  even 
though  the  devotion  Rogers  thought  misdirected. 

For  Minks  hung  upon  the  fringe  of  that  very 
modern,  new-fashioned,  but  almost  freakish  army 
that  worships  old,  old  ideals,  yet  insists  upon  new- 
fangled names  for  them.  Christ,  doubtless,  was  his 
model,  but  it  must  be  a  Christ  properly  and  freshly 
labelled  ;  his  Christianity  must  somewhere  include 
the  prefix  '  neo,'  and  the  word  '  scientific  '  must  also 
be  dragged  in  if  possible  before  he  was  satisfied. 
Minks,  indeed,  took  so  long  explaining  to  himself  the 
wonderful  title  that  he  was  sometimes  in  danger  of 
forgetting  the  brilliant  truths  it  so  vulgarly  con- 
cealed. Yet  never  quite  concealed.  He  must  be 
up-to-date,  that  was  all.  His  attitude  to  the  world 
scraped  acquaintance  with  nobility  somewhere.  His 
gift  was  a  rare  one.  Out  of  so  little,  he  gave  his 
mite,  and  gave  it  simply,  unaware  that  he  was  doing 
anything  unusual. 

This  attitude  of  mind  had  made  him  valuable,  even 
endeared  him,  to  the  successful  business  man,  and 
in  his  secret  heart  Rogers  had  once  or  twice  felt 
ashamed  of  himself.      Minks,  as  it  were,  knew  actual 


i4  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

achievement  because  he  was,  forcedly,  content  with 
little,  whereas  he,  Rogers,  dreamed  of  so  much,  yet 
took  twenty  years  to  come  within  reach  of  what  he 
dreamed.  He  was  always  waiting  for  the  right 
moment  to  begin. 

His  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  sunlight, 
which,  pouring  in  a  flood  across  the  opposite  roof, 
just  then  dropped  a  patch  of  soft  April  glory  upon 
the  black  and  yellow  check  of  his  carpet  slippers. 
Rogers  got  up  and,  opening  the  window  wider  than 
before,  put  out  his  head.  The  sunshine  caught  him 
full  in  the  face.  He  tasted  the  fresh  morning  air. 
Tinged  with  the  sharp  sweetness  of  the  north  it  had 
a  fragrance  as  of  fields  and  gardens.  Even  St. 
James's  Street  could  not  smother  its  vitality  and 
perfume.  He  drew  it  with  delight  into  his  lungs, 
making  such  a  to-do  about  it  that  a  passer-by  looked 
up  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and  noticing  the  hang- 
ing tassel  of  a  flamboyant  dressing-gown,  at  once 
modestly  lowered  his  eyes  again. 

But  Henry  Rogers  did  not  see  the  passer-by  in 
whose  delicate  mind  a  point  of  taste  had  thus  van- 
quished curiosity,  for  his  thoughts  had  flown  far 
across  the  pale- blue  sky,  behind  the  cannon-ball 
clouds,  up  into  that  scented  space  and  distance  where 
summer  was  already  winging  her  radiant  way  towards 
the  earth.  Visions  of  June  obscured  his  sight,  and 
something  in  the  morning  splendour  brought  back 
his  youth  and  boyhood.  He  saw  a  new  world  spread 
about  him  —  a  world  of  sunlight,  butterflies,  and 
flowers,  of  smooth  soft  lawns  and  shaded  gravel 
paths,  and  of  children  playing  round  a  pond  where 
rushes  whispered  in  a  wind  of  long  ago.  He  saw 
hayfields,  orchards,  tea-things  spread  upon  a  bank  of 
flowers  underneath  a  hedge,  and  a  collie  dog  leaping 


n  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  15 

and  tumbling  shoulder  high  among  the  standing 
grass.  ...  It  was  all  curiously  vivid,  and  with  a 
sense  of  something  about  it  unfading  and  delight- 
fully eternal.  It  could  never  pass,  for  instance, 
whereas.   .   .   . 

*  Ain't  yer  forgotten  the  nightcap  ? '  sang  out  a 
shrill  voice  from  below,  as  a  boy  with  a  basket  on 
his  arm  went  down  the  street.  He  drew  back  from 
the  window,  realising  that  he  was  a  sight  for  all 
admirers.  Tossing  the  end  of  his  cigarette  in  the 
direction  of  the  cheeky  urchin,  he  settled  himself 
again  in  the  arm-chair  before  the  glowing  grate-fire. 

But  the  fresh  world  he  had  tasted  came  back  with 
him.  For  Henry  Rogers  stood  this  fine  spring 
morning  upon  the  edge  of  a  new  life.  A  long 
chapter  had  just  closed  behind  him.  He  was  on  the 
threshold  of  another.  The  time  to  begin  had  come. 
And  the  thrill  of  his  freedom  now  at  hand  was  very 
stimulating  to  his  imagination.  He  was  forty,  and 
a  rich  man.  Twenty  years  of  incessant  and  intelli- 
gent labour  had  brought  him  worldly  success.  He 
admitted  he  had  been  lucky,  where  so  many  toil  on 
and  on  till  the  gates  of  death  stand  up  and  block 
their  way,  fortunate  if  they  have  earned  a  com- 
petency through  years  where  hope  and  disappoint- 
ment wage  their  incessant  weary  battle.  But  he,  for 
some  reason  known  only  to  the  silent  Fates,  had 
crested  the  difficult  hill  and  now  stood  firm  upon 
the  top  to  see  the  sunrise,  the  dreadful  gates  not 
even  yet  in  sight.  At  yesterday's  Board  meeting, 
Minks  had  handed  him  the  papers  for  his  signature  ; 
the  patents  had  been  transferred  to  the  new  company  ; 
the  cheque  had  been  paid  over  ;  and  he  was  now  a 
gentleman  of  leisure  with  a  handsome  fortune  lying 
in  his  bank  to  await  investment.     He  was  a  director 


1 6  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

in  the  parent,  as  well  as  the  subsidiary  companies, 
with  fees  that  in  themselves  alone  were  more  than 
sufficient  for  his  simple  needs. 

For  all  his  tastes  were  simple,  and  he  had  no  expen- 
sive hobbies  or  desires  ;  he  preferred  two  rooms  and 
a  bath  to  any  house  that  he  had  ever  seen  ;  pictures 
he  liked  best  in  galleries  ;  horses  he  could  hire  with- 
out the  trouble  of  owning  ;  the  f&w  books  worth 
reading  would  go  into  a  couple  of  shelves  ;  motors 
afflicted,  even  confused  him — he  was  old-fashioned 
enough  to  love  country  and  walk  through  it  slowly 
on  two  vigorous  legs  ;  marriage  had  been  put  aside 
with  a  searing  disappointment  years  ago,  not  for- 
gotten, but  accepted  ;  and  of  travel  he  had  enjoyed 
enough  to  realise  now  that  its  pleasures  could  be 
found  reasonably  near  home  and  for  very  moderate 
expenditure  indeed.  And  the  very  idea  of  servants 
was  to  him  an  affliction  ;  he  loathed  their  prying 
closeness  to  his  intimate  life  and  habits,  destroying 
the  privacy  he  loved.  Confirmed  old  bachelor  his 
friends  might  call  him  if  they  chose  ;  he  knew  what 
he  wanted.  Now  at  last  he  had  it.  The  ambition 
of  his  life  was  within  reach. 

For,  from  boyhood  up,  a  single  big  ambition  had 
ever  thundered  through  his  being — the  desire  to  be 
of  use  to  others.  To  help  his  fellow-kind  was  to  be 
his  profession  and  career.  It  had  burned  and  glowed 
in  him  ever  since  he  could  remember,  and  what  first 
revealed  it  in  him  was  the  sight — common  enough, 
alas — of  a  boy  with  one  leg  hobbling  along  on 
crutches  down  the  village  street.  Some  deep  power 
in  his  youthful  heart,  akin  to  the  wondrous  sympathy 
of  women,  had  been  touched.  Like  a  shock  of  fire 
it  came  home  to  him.  He,  too,  might  lose  his 
dearest  possession  thus,  and  be  unable  to  climb  trees, 


ii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  17 

jump  ditches,  risk  his  neck  along  the  edge  of  the 
haystack  or  the  roof.  '  That  might  happen  to  me  too ! ' 
was  the  terrible  thing  he  realised,  and  had  burst  into 
tears.   .   .   . 

Crutches  at  twelve  !  And  the  family  hungry,  as 
he  later  learned  !  Something  in  the  world  was  wrong  ; 
he  thought  every  one  had  enough  to  eat,  at  least,  and 
only  the  old  used  crutches.  '  The  Poor  was  a  sort 
of  composite  wretch,  half  criminal,  who  deserved  to 
be  dirty,  suffering,  punished  ;  but  this  boy  belonged 
to  a  family  that  worked  and  did  its  best.  Something 
in  the  world-machinery  had  surely  broken  loose  and 
caused  violent  disorder.  For  no  one  cared  particu- 
larly. The  '  'thorities,'  he  heard,  looked  after  the 
Poor — '  'thorities  in  law,'  as  he  used  to  call  the 
mysterious  Person  he  never  actually  saw,  stern,  but 
kindly  in  a  grave  impersonal  way  ;  and  asked  once 
if  some  relation-in-law  or  other,  who  was  mentioned 
often  but  never  seen,  had,  therefore,  anything  to  do 
with  the  poor. 

Dropping  into  his  heart  from  who  knows  what 
far,  happy  star,  this  passion  had  grown  instead  of 
faded  :  to  give  himself  for  others,  to  help  afflicted 
folk,  to  make  the  world  go  round  a  little  more  easily. 
And  he  had  never  forgotten  the  deep  thrill  with 
which  he  heard  his  father  tell  him  of  some  wealthy 
man  who  during  his  lifetime  had  given  away 
a  million  pounds  —  anonymously.  .  .  .  His  own 
pocket-money  just  then  was  five  shillings  a  week, 
and  his  expectations  just  exactly — nothing. 

But  before  his  dreams  could  know  accomplish- 
ment, he  must  have  means.  To  be  of  use  to  any- 
body at  all  he  must  make  himself  effective.  The 
process  must  be  reversed,  for  no  man  could  fight 
without  weapons,  and  weapons  were  only  to  be  had 

c 


1 8  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

as  the  result  of  steady,  concentrated  effort — selfish 
effort.  A  man  must  fashion  himself  before  he  can 
be  effective  for  others.  Self-effacement,  he  learned, 
was  rather  a  futile  virtue  atter  all. 

As  the  years  passed  he  saw  his  chances.  He  cut 
short  a  promising  University  career  and  entered 
business.  His  talents  lay  that  way,  as  his  friends 
declared,  and  unquestionably  he  had  a  certain  genius 
for  invention  ;  for,  while  scores  of  futile  processes 
he  first  discovered  remained  mere  clever  solutions  of 
interesting  problems,  he  at  length  devised  improve- 
ments in  the  greater  industries,  and,  patenting  them 
wisely,  made  his  way  to  practical  results. 

But  the  process  had  been  a  dangerous  one,  and 
during  the  long  business  experience  the  iron  had 
entered  his  soul,  and  he  had  witnessed  at  close 
quarters  the  degrading  influence  of  the  lust  of 
acquisition.  The  self-advertising  humbug  of  most 
philanthropy  had  clouded  something  in  him  that  he 
felt  could  never  again  grow  clear  and  limpid  as  before, 
and  a  portion  of  his  original  zest  had  faded.  For 
the  City  hardly  encouraged  it.  One  bit  of  gilt  after 
another  had  been  knocked  off  his  brilliant  dream, 
one  jet  of  flame  upon  another  quenched.  The 
single  eye  that  fills  the  body  full  of  light  was  a  thing 
so  rare  that  its  possession  woke  suspicion.  Even  of 
money  generously  given,  so  little  reached  its  object  ; 
gaping  pockets  and  grasping  fingers  everywhere  lined 
the  way  of  safe  delivery.  It  sickened  him.  So  few, 
moreover,  were  willing  to  give  without  acknowledg- 
ment in  at  least  one  morning  paper.  '  Bring  back  the 
receipt '  was  the  first  maxim  even  of  the  office-boys  ; 
and  between  the  right  hand  and  the  left  of  every  one 
were  special  '  private  wires '  that  flashed  the  news  as 
quickly  as  possible  about  the  entire  world. 


ii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  19 

Yet,  while  inevitable  disillusion  had  dulled  his 
youthful  dreams,  its  glory  was  never  quite  destroyed. 
It  still  glowed  within.  At  times,  indeed,  it  ran  into 
flame,  and  knew  something  of  its  original  splendour. 
Women,  in  particular,  had  helped  to  keep  it  alive, 
fanning  its  embers  bravely.  For  many  women,  he 
found,  dreamed  his  own  dream,  and  dreamed  it  far 
more  sweetly.  They  were  closer  to  essential  realities 
than  men  were.  While  men  bothered  with  fuss  and 
fury  about  empires,  tariffs,  street-cars,  and  marvellous 
engines  for  destroying  one  another,  women,  keeping 
close  to  the  sources  of  life,  knew,  like  children,  more 
of  its  sweet,  mysterious  secrets — the  things  of  value 
no  one  yet  has  ever  put  completely  into  words.  He 
wondered,  a  little  sadly,  to  see  them  battling  now  to 
scuffle  with  the  men  in  managing  the  gross  machinery, 
cleaning  the  pens  and  regulating  ink-pots.  Did  they 
really  think  that  by  helping  to  decide  whether  rates 
should  rise  or  fall,  or  how  many  buttons  a  factory- 
inspector  should  wear  upon  his  uniform,  they  more 
nobly  helped  the  world  go  round  ?  Did  they  never 
pause  to  reflect  who  would  fill  the  places  they  thus 
vacated  ?  With  something  like  melancholy  he  saw 
them  stepping  down  from  their  thrones  of  high 
authority,  for  it  seemed  to  him  a  prostitution  of 
their  sweet  prerogatives  that  damaged  the  entire 
sex. 

'Old-fashioned  bachelor,  no  doubt,  I  am,'  he 
smiled  quietly  to  himself,  coming  back  to  the  first 
reflection  whence  his  thoughts  had  travelled  so  far — 
the  reflection,  namely,  that  now  at  last  he  possessed 
the  freedom  he  had  longed  and  toiled  for. 

And  then  he  paused  and  looked  about  him,  con- 
fronted with  a  difficulty.  To  him  it  seemed  unusual, 
but  really  it  was  very  common. 


2o  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

For,  having  it,  he  knew  not  at  first  what  use  to 
make  of  it.  This  dawned  upon  him  suddenly  when 
the  sunlight  splashed  his  tawdry  slippers  with  its 
gold.  The  movement  to  the  open  window  was  really 
instinctive  beginning  of  a  search,  as  though  in  the 
free,  wonderful  spaces  out  of  doors  he  would  find  the 
thing  he  sought  to  do.  Now,  settled  back  in  the 
deep  arm-chair,  he  realised  that  he  had  not  found  it. 
The  memories  of  childhood  had  flashed  into  him 
instead.  He  renewed  the  search  before  the  dying 
fire,  waiting  for  the  sound  of  Minks'  ascending  foot- 
steps on  the  stairs.   .  .   . 

And  this  revival  of  the  childhood  mood  was 
curious,  he  felt,  almost  significant,  for  it  was  sym- 
bolical of  so  much  that  he  had  deliberately,  yet  with 
difficulty,  suppressed  and  put  aside.  During  these 
years  of  concentrated  toil  for  money,  his  strong  will 
had  neglected  of  set  purpose  the  call  of  a  robust 
imagination.  He  had  stifled  poetry  just  as  he  had 
stifled  play.  Yet  really  that  imagination  had  merely 
gone  into  other  channels — scientific  invention.  It 
was  a  higher  form,  married  at  least  with  action  that 
produced  poetry  in  steel  and  stone  instead  of  in 
verse.  Invention  has  ever  imagination  and  poetry 
at  its  heart. 

The  acquirement  of  wealth  demanded  his  entire 
strength,  and  all  lighter  considerations  he  had  con- 
sistently refused  to  recognise,  until  he  thought  them 
dead.  This  sudden  flaming  mood  rushed  up  and 
showed  him  otherwise.  He  reflected  on  it,  but 
clumsily,  as  with  a  mind  too  long  trained  in  the  rigid 
values  of  stocks  and  shares,  buying  and  selling,  hard 
figures  that  knew  not  elasticity.  This  softer  subject 
led  him  to  no  conclusion,  leaving  him  stranded 
among  misty  woods  and  fields  of  flowers  that  had  no 


ii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  21 

outlet.  He  realised,  however,  clearly  that  this 
side  of  him  was  not  atrophied  as  he  thought. 
Its  unused  powers  had  merely  been  accumulating — 
underground. 

He  got  no  further  than  that  just  now.  He  poked 
the  fire  and  lit  another  cigarette.  Then,  glancing 
idly  at  the  paper,  his  eye  fell  upon  the  list  of  births, 
and  by  merest  chance  picked  out  the  name  of  Cray- 
field.  Some  nonentity  had  been  '  safely  delivered  of 
a  son '  at  Crayfield,  the  village  where  he  had  passed 
his  youth  and  childhood.  He  saw  the  Manor  House 
where  he  was  born,  the  bars  across  the  night-nursery 
windows,  the  cedars  on  the  lawn,  the  haystacks  just 
beyond  the  stables,  and  the  fields  where  the  rabbits 
sometimes  fell  asleep  as  they  sat  after  enormous  meals 
too  stuffed  to  move.  He  saw  the  old  gravel-pit  that 
led,  the  gardener  told  him,  to  the  centre  of  the  earth. 
A  whiff  of  perfume  from  the  laurustinus  in  the  drive 
came  back,  the  scent  of  hay,  and  with  it  the  sound 
of  the  mowing-machine  going  over  the  lawn.  He 
saw  the  pony  in  loose  flat  leather  shoes.  The  bees 
were  humming  in  the  lime  trees.  The  rooks  were 
cawing.  A  blackbird  whistled  from  the  shrubberies 
where  he  once  passed  an  entire  day  in  hiding,  after 
emptying  an  ink-bottle  down  the  German  governess's 
dress.  He  heard  the  old  family  butler  in  his  wheezy 
voice  calling  in  vain  for  '  Mr.  'Enery '  to  come  in. 
The  tone  was  respectful,  seductive  as  the  man  could 
make  it,  yet  reproachful.  He  remembered  throwing 
a  little  stone  that  caught  him  just  where  the  Newgate 
fringe  met  the  black  collar  of  his  coat,  so  that  his 
cry  of  delight  betrayed  his  hiding-place.  The 
whacking  that  followed  he  remembered  too,  and  how 
his  brother  emerged  suddenly  from  behind  the  curtain 
with,  'Father,  may  I  have  it  instead  of  Henry,  please  ?' 


22  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

That  spontaneous  offer  of  sacrifice,  of  willingness  to 
suffer  for  another,  had  remained  in  his  mind  for  a 
long  time  as  a  fiery,  incomprehensible  picture. 

More  dimly,  then,  somewhere  in  mist  behind,  he 
saw  other  figures  moving — the  Dustman  and  the 
Lamplighter,  the  Demon  Chimneysweep  in  black, 
the  Woman  of  the  Haystack — outposts  and  sentries 
of  a  larger  fascinating  host  that  gathered  waiting  in 
the  shadows  just  beyond.  The  creations  of  his  boy's 
imagination  swarmed  up  from  their  temporary  graves, 
and  made  him  smile  and  wonder.  After  twenty 
years  of  strenuous  business  life,  how  pale  and  thin 
they  seemed.  Yet  at  the  same  time  how  extra- 
ordinarily alive  and  active  !  He  saw,  too,  the  huge 
Net  of  Stars  he  once  had  made  to  catch  them  with 
from  that  night-nursery  window,  fastened  by  long 
golden  nails  made  out  of  meteors  to  the  tops  of  the 
cedars.  .  .  .  There  had  been,  too,  a  train — the 
Starlight  Express.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  they  knew, 
too,  that  a  new  chapter  had  begun,  and  that  they  called 
him  to  come  back  and  play  again.  .   .   . 

Then,  with  a  violent  jump,  his  thoughts  flew  to 
other  things,  and  he  considered  one  by  one  the 
various  philanthropic  schemes  he  had  cherished 
against  the  day  when  he  could  realise  them.  That  day 
had  come.  But  the  schemes  seemed  one  and  all  wild 
now,  impracticable,  already  accomplished  by  others 
better  than  he  could  hope  to  accomplish  them,  and 
none  of  them  fulfilling  the  first  essential  his  practical 
mind  demanded — knowing  his  money  spent  precisely 
as  he  wished.  Dreams,  long  cherished,  seemed  to 
collapse  one  by  one  before  him  just  when  he  at 
last  came  up  with  them.  He  thought  of  the  woman 
who  was  to  have  helped  him,  now  married  to  another 
who  had  money  without  working  for  it.      He  put  the 


„  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  23 

thought  back  firmly  in  its  place.      He  knew  now  a 
greater  love  than  that — the  love  for  many.   .   .   . 

He  was  embarking  upon  other  novel  schemes 
when  there  was  a  ring  at  the  bell,  and  the  charwoman, 
who  passed  with  him  for  servant,  ushered  in  his 
private  secretary,  Mr.  Minks.  Quickly  readjusting 
the  machinery  of  his  mind,  Rogers  came  back  to  the 
present. 

'  Good  morning,  Mr.  Rogers.  I  trust  I  am 
punctual.' 

'  Good  morning,  Minks  ;  yes,  on  the  stroke  of 
ten.  We've  got  a  busy  day.  Let's  see  now.  How 
are  you,  by  the  by  ? '  he  added,  as  an  afterthought, 
catching  first  one  eye,  then  the  other,  and  looking 
finally  between  the  two. 

'  Very  well,  indeed,  thank  you,  Mr.  Rogers.'  He 
was  dressed  in  a  black  tail-coat,  with  a  green  tie 
neatly  knotted  into  a  spotless  turn-down  collar.  He 
glanced  round  him  for  a  chair,  one  hand  already  in 
his  pocket  for  the  note-book. 

'  Good,'  said  Rogers,  indicating  where  he  might 
seat  himself,  and  reaching  for  the  heap  of  letters. 

The  other  sighed  a  little  and  began  to  look 
expectant  and  receptive. 

'  If  I  might  give  you  this  first,  please,  Mr.  Rogers,' 
he  said,  suddenly  pretending  to  remember  something 
in  his  breast-pocket  and  handing  across  the  table, 
with  a  slight  flush  upon  his  cheeks,  a  long,  narrow, 
mauve  envelope  with  a  flourishing  address.  '  It  was 
a  red-letter  day  for  Mrs.  Minks  when  I  told  her  of 
your  kindness.  She  wished  to  thank  you  in  person, 
but — I  thought  a  note — I  knew,'  he  stammered, 
'  you  would  prefer  a  letter.  It  is  a  tremendous  help 
to  both  of  us,  if  I  may  say  so  again.' 

'  Yes,  yes,  quite  so,'  said  Rogers,  quickly  ;  '  and 


24  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

I'm  glad  to  be  of  service  to  the  lad.     You  must  let 
me  know  from  time  to  time  how  he's  getting  on.' 

Minks  subsided,  flattening  out  his  oblong  note- 
book and  examining  the  points  of  his  pencil  sharpened 
at  both  ends  as  though  the  fate  of  Empires  depended 
on  it.  They  attacked  the  pile  of  correspondence 
heartily,  while  the  sun,  watching  them  through  the 
open  window,  danced  gorgeously  upon  the  walls  and 
secretly  put  the  fire  out. 

In  this  way  several  hours  passed,  for  besides 
letters  to  be  dictated,  there  were  careful  instruc- 
tions to  be  given  about  many  things.  Minks 
was  kept  very  busy.  He  was  now  not  merely 
shorthand  clerk,  and  he  had  to  be  initiated  into  the 
inner  history  of  various  enterprises  in  which  his  chief 
was  interested.  All  Mr.  Rogers's  London  interests, 
indeed,  were  to  be  in  his  charge,  and,  obviously  aware 
of  this,  he  bore  himself  proudly  with  an  air  of  im- 
portance that  had  no  connection  with  a  common  office. 
To  watch  him,  you  would  never  have  dreamed  that 
Herbert  Minks  had  ever  contemplated  City  life, 
much  less  known  ten  years  of  drudgery  in  its  least 
poetic  stages.  For  him,  too,  as  for  his  employer,  a 
new  chapter  of  existence  had  begun — c  commenced  ' 
he  would  have  phrased  it — and,  as  confidential  adviser 
to  a  man  of  fortune  whose  character  he  admired 
almost  to  the  point  of  worship,  he  was  now  a  person 
whose  importance  it  was  right  the  world  should 
recognise.  And  he  meant  the  world  to  take  this 
attitude  without  delay.  He  dressed  accordingly, 
knowing  that  of  every  ten  people  nine  judge  value 
from  clothes,  and  hat,  and  boots — especially  boots. 
His  patent  leather,  buttoned  boots  were  dazzling, 
with  upper  parts  of  soft  grey  leather.  And  his 
shiny  *  topper '  wore  a  band   of  black.     Minks,  so 


ii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  25 

far  as  he  knew,  was  not  actually  in  mourning,  but 
somebody  for  whom  he  ought  to  be  in  mourning 
might  die  any  day,  and  meanwhile,  he  felt,  the  band 
conveyed  distinction.  It  suited  a  man  of  letters.  It 
also  protected  the  hat. 

1  Thank'ee,'  said  his  chief  as  luncheon  time  drew 
near  ;  '  and  now,  if  you'll  get  those  letters  typed, 
you  might  leave  'em  here  for  me  on  your  way  home 
to  sign.     That's  all  we  have  to-day,  isn't  it  ? ' 

'You  wanted,  I  think,  to  draft  your  Scheme  for 

Disabled '   began  the  secretary,  when  the  other 

cut  him  short. 

*  Yes,  yes,  but  that  must  wait.  I  haven't  got  it 
clear  yet  in  my  own  mind.  You  might  think  it  out 
a  bit  yourself,  perhaps,  meanwhile,  and  give  me 
your  ideas,  eh  ?  Look  up  what  others  have  done  in 
the  same  line,  for  instance,  and  tell  me  where  they 
failed.  What  the  weakness  of  their  schemes  was, 
you  know — and — er — so  forth.' 

A  faint  smile,  that  held  the  merest  ghost  of 
merriment,  passed  across  the  face  of  Minks,  leaping, 
unobserved  by  his  chief,  from  one  eye  to  the  other. 
There  was  pity  and  admiration  in  it  ;  a  hint  of 
pathos  visited  those  wayward  lips.  For  the  suggestion 
revealed  the  weakness  the  secretary  had  long  ago 
divined — that  the  practical  root  of  the  matter  did 
not  really  lie  in  him  at  all,  and  Henry  Rogers  for- 
ever dreamed  of  '  Schemes  '  he  was  utterly  unable 
and  unsuited  to  carry  out.  Improvements  in  a  silk 
machine  was  one  thing,  but  improvements  in  humanity 
was  another.  Like  the  poetry  in  his  soul  they  could 
never  know  fulfilment.  He  had  inspiration,  but  no 
constructive  talent.  For  the  thousandth  time  Minks 
wondered,  glancing  at  his  employer's  face,  how  such 
calm  and  gentle  features,  such   dreamy  eyes  and  a 


26  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

Vandyke  beard  so  neatly  trimmed,  could  go  with 
ambitions  so  lofty  and  so  unusual.  This  sentence  he 
had  heard  before,  and  was  destined  often  to  hear 
again,  while  achievement  came  no  nearer. 

'  I  will  do  so  at  the  first  opportunity.'  He  put 
the  oblong  note-book  carefully  in  his  pocket,  and 
stood  by  the  table  in  an  attitude  of  '  any  further 
instructions,  please  ? '  while  one  eye  wandered  to  the 
unopened  letter  that  was  signed  '  Albinia  Minks, 
with  heartfelt  gratitude.' 

'  And,  by  the  by,  Minks,'  said  his  master,  turning 
as  though  a  new  idea  had  suddenly  struck  him  and 
he  had  formed  a  hasty  plan,  '  you  might  kindly  look 
up  an  afternoon  train  to  Crayfield.  Loop  line  from 
Charing  Cross,  you  know.  Somewhere  about  two 
o'clock  or  so.  I  have  to — er — I  think  I'll  run  down 
that  way  after  luncheon.' 

Whereupon,  having  done  this  last  commission, 
and  written  it  down  upon  a  sheet  of  paper  which  he 
placed  with  care  against  the  clock,  beside  the  unopened 
letter,  the  session  closed,  and  Minks,  in  his  mourning 
hat  and  lavender  gloves,  walked  up  St.  James's 
Street  apparently  en  route  for  the  Ritz,  but  suddenly, 
as  with  careless  unconsciousness,  turning  into  an 
A.B.C.  Depot  for  luncheon,  well  pleased  with  himself 
and  with  the  world,  but  especially  with  his  considerate 
employer. 

Ten  minutes  later  Mr.  Rogers  followed  him  on 
his  way  to  the  club,  and  just  when  Minks  was  re- 
flecting with  pride  of  the  well-turned  phrases  he  had 
dictated  to  his  wife  for  her  letter  of  thanks,  it  passed 
across  the  mind  of  its  recipient  that  he  had  forgotten 
to  read  it  altogether.  And,  truth  to  tell,  he  never 
yet  has  read  it  ;  for,  returning  late  that  evening  from 
his  sentimental  journey  down  to  Crayfield,  it  stood 


n  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  27 

no  longer  where  he  had  left  it  beside  the  clock,  and 
nothing  occurred  to  remind  him  of  its  existence. 
Apart  from  its  joint  composers,  no  one  can  ever 
know  its  contents  but  the  charwoman,  who,  noticing 
the  feminine  writing,  took  it  back  to  Lambeth 
and  pored  over  it  with  a  candle  for  full  half  an 
hour,  greatly  disappointed.  '  Things  like  that,'  she 
grumbled  to  her  husband,  whose  appearance  suggested 
that  he  went  for  bigger  game,  '  ain't  worth  the  trouble 
of  taking  at  all,  whichever  way  you  looks  at  it.' 
And  probably  she  was  right. 


CHAPTER   III 

And  what  if  All  of  animated  nature 

Be  but  as  Instruments  diversely  framed 

That  tremble  into  thought,  as  o'er  them  sweeps 

One  infinite  and  intellectual  Breeze, 

At  once  the  Soul  of  each,  and  God  of  all  ? 

The  Mollan  Harp,  S.  T.  Coleridge. 

In  the  train,  even  before  St.  John's  was  passed,  a 
touch  of  inevitable  reaction  had  set  in,  and  Rogers 
asked  himself  why  he  was  going.  For  a  sentimental 
journey  was  hardly  in  his  line,  it  seemed.  But  no 
satisfactory  answer  was  forthcoming — none,  at  least, 
that  a  Board  or  a  Shareholders'  Meeting  would  have 
considered  satisfactory. 

There  was  an  answer  in  him  somewhere,  but  he 
couldn't  quite  get  down  to  it.  The  spring  glory  had 
enticed  him  back  to  childhood.  The  journey  was 
symbolical  of  escape.  That  was  the  truth.  But  the 
part  of  him  that  knew  it  had  lain  so  long  in  abeyance 
that  only  a  whisper  flitted  across  his  mind  as  he  sat 
looking  out  of  the  carriage  window  at  the  fields 
round  Lee  and  Eltham.  The  landscape  seemed 
hauntinglv  familiar,  but  what  surprised  him  was  the 
number  of  known  faces  that  rose  and  smiled  at  him. 
A  kind  of  dream  confusion  blurred  his  outer  sight. 

At  Bexley,  as  he  hurried  past,  he  caught  dimly  a 
glimpse  of  an  old  nurse  whom  he  remembered  trying 
to  break  into  bits  with  a  hop-pole  he  could  barely 

28 


ch.hi     A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  29 

lift ;  and,  most  singular  thing,  on  the  Sidcup  platform, 
a  group  of  noisy  schoolboys,  with  smudged  faces  and 
ridiculously  small  caps  stuck  on  the  back  of  their 
heads,  had  scrambled  viciously  to  get  into  his  com- 
partment. They  carried  brown  canvas  satchels  full 
of  crumpled  books  and  papers,  and  though  the  names 
had  mostly  escaped  him,  he  remembered  every  single 
face.  There  was  Barlow — big,  bony  chap  who 
stammered,  bringing  his  words  out  with  a  kind  of 
whistling  sneeze.  Barlow  had  given  him  his  first 
thrashing  for  copying  his  stammer.  There  was 
young  Watson,  who  funked  at  football  and  sneaked 
to  a  master  about  a  midnight  supper.  He  stole 
pocket-money,  too,  and  was  expelled.  Then  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  another  fellow  with  sly  face  and 
laughing  eyes  ;  the  name  had  vanished,  but  he  was 
the  boy  who  put  jalap  in  the  music-master's  coffee, 
and  received  a  penny  from  five  or  six  others  who 
thus  escaped  a  lesson.  All  waved  their  hands  to 
him  as  the  train  hurried  away,  and  the  last  thing  he 
saw  was  the  station  lamp  where  he  had  lit  the 
cigar  that  made  three  of  them,  himself  included, 
deadly  sick.  Familiar  woods  and  a  little  blue-eyed 
stream  then  hid  the  vision  .  .  .  and  a  moment  later 
he  was  standing  on  the  platform  of  his  childhood's 
station,  giving  up  his  first  -  class  ticket  (secretly 
ashamed  that  it  was  not  third)  to  a  station-master- 
ticket -collector  person  who  simply  was  not  real 
at  all. 

For  he  had  no  beard.  He  was  small,  too,  and 
insignificant.  The  way  he  had  dwindled,  with  the 
enormous  station  that  used  to  be  a  mile  or  so  in 
length,  was  severely  disappointing.  That  Station- 
master  with  the  beard  ought  to  have  lived  for  ever. 
His  niche  in  the  Temple  of  Fame  was  sure.     One 


30         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

evening  he  had  called  in  Full  uniform  at  the  house 
and  asked  to  see  Master  Henry  Rogers,  the  boy 
who  had  got  out  '  while-the-train-was-still-in- 
motion,'  and  had  lectured  him  gravely  with  a 
face  like  death.  Never  again  had  he  left  a  train 
'  whilestillinmotion,'  though  it  was  years  before  he 
discovered  how  his  father  had  engineered  that  awful, 
salutary  visit. 

He  asked  casually,  in  a  voice  that  hardly  seemed 
his  own,  about  the  service  back  to  town,  and  received 
the  answer  with  a  kind  of  wonder.  It  was  so  respect- 
ful. The  porters  had  not  found  him  out  yet  ;  but 
the  moment  they  did  so,  he  would  have  to  run.  He 
did  not  run,  however.  He  walked  slowly  down  the 
Station  Road,  swinging  the  silver-knobbed  cane  the 
office  clerks  had  given  him  when  he  left  the  City. 
Leisurely,  without  a  touch  of  fear,  he  passed  the 
Water  Works,  where  the  huge  iron  crank  of  the 
shaft  rose  and  fell  with  ominous  thunder  against 
the  sky.  It  had  once  been  part  of  that  awful  hidden 
Engine  which  moved  the  world.  To  go  near  it  was 
instant  death,  and  he  always  crossed  the  road  to 
avoid  it  ;  but  this  afternoon  he  went  down  the  cinder 
pathway  so  close  that  he  could  touch  it  with  his 
stick.  It  was  incredible  that  so  terrible  a  thing  could 
dwindle  in  a  few  years  to  the  dimensions  of  a  motor 
piston.  The  crank  that  moved  up  and  down 
like  a  bending,  gigantic  knee  looked  almost  flimsy 
now.  .   .   . 

Then  the  village  street  came  into  view  and  he 
suddenly  smelt  the  fields  and  gardens  that  topped 
the  hill  beyond.  The  world  turned  gold  and  amber, 
shining  beneath  a  turquoise  sky.  There  was  a  rush 
of  flaming  sunsets,  one  upon  another,  followed  by 
great  green   moons,   and   hosts   of  stars   that   came 


in  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  31 

twinkling  across  barred  windows  to  his  very  bedside  . . . 
that  grand  old  Net  of  Stars  he  made  so  cunningly. 
Cornhill  and  Lombard  Street  flashed  back  upon  him 
for  a  second,  then  dived  away  and  hid  their  faces  for 
ever,  as  he  passed  the  low  grey  wall  beside  the 
church  where  first  he  had  seen  the  lame  boy  hobbling, 
and  had  realised  that  the  whole  world  suffered. 

A  moment  he  stood  here,  thinking.  He  heard 
the  wind  sighing  in  the  yew  trees  beside  the  dark 
brown  porch.  Rooks  were  cawing  among  the  elms 
across  the  churchyard,  and  pigeons  wheeled  and 
fluttered  about  the  grey  square  tower.  The  wind, 
the  tower,  the  weather-stained  old  porch — these  had 
not  changed.  This  sunshine  and  this  turquoise  sky 
were  still  the  same. 

The  village  stopped  at  the  churchyard — significant 
boundary.  No  single  building  ventured  farther  ;  the 
houses  ran  the  other  way  instead,  pouring  down  the 
steep  hill  in  a  cataract  of  bricks  and  roofs  towards 
the  station.  The  hill,  once  topped,  and  the  church- 
yard left  behind,  he  entered  the  world  of  fields  and 
little  copses.  It  was  just  like  going  through  a  gate- 
way. It  was  a  Gateway.  The  road  sloped  gently 
down  for  half-a-mile  towards  the  pair  of  big  iron 
gates  that  barred  the  drive  up  to  the  square  grey 
house  upon  whose  lawns  he  once  had  chased  butter- 
flies, but  from  whose  upper  windows  he  once  had 
netted — stars. 

The  spell  came  over  him  very  strongly  then  as  he 
went  slowly  down  that  road.  The  altered  scale  of 
distance  confused  him  ;  the  road  had  telescoped 
absurdly  ;  the  hayfields  were  so  small.  At  the 
turn  lay  the  pond  with  yellow  duckweed  and  a  bent 
iron  railing  that  divided  it  to  keep  the  cows  from 
crossing.      Formerly,  of  course,  that  railing  had  been 


32  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap, 

put  to  prevent  children  drowning  in  its  bottomless 
depths  ;  all  ponds  had  been  bottomless  then,  and  the 
weeds  had  spread  to  entice  the  children  to  a  watery 
death.  But  now  he  could  have  jumped  across  it, 
weed  and  railing  too,  without  a  run,  and  he  looked  in 
vain  for  the  shores  that  once  had  been  so  seductively 
far  away.     They  were  mere  dirty,  muddy  edges. 

This  general  shrinkage  in  space  was  very  curious. 
But  a  similar  contraction,  he  realised,  had  taken  place 
in  time  as  well,  for,  looking  back  upon  his  forty 
years,  they  seemed  such  a  little  thing  compared  to 
the  enormous  stretch  they  offered  when  he  had  stood 
beside  this  very  pond  and  looked  ahead.  He 
wondered  vaguely  which  was  the  reality  and  which 
the  dream.  But  his  effort  was  not  particularly  suc- 
cessful, and  he  came  to  no  conclusion.  Those  years 
of  strenuous  business  life  were  like  a  few  weeks,  yet 
their  golden  results  were  in  his  pockets.  Those 
years  of  childhood  had  condensed  into  a  jumble  of 
sunny  hours,  yet  their  golden  harvest  was  equally  in 
his  heart.  Time  and  space  were  mere  bits  of  elastic 
that  could  stretch  or  shrink  as  thought  directed, 
feeling  chose.  And  now  both  thought  and  feeling 
chose  emphatically.  He  stepped  back  swiftly.  His 
mind  seemed  filled  with  stars  and  butterflies  and 
childhood's  figures  of  wonder.  Childhood  took  him 
prisoner. 

It  was  curious  at  first,  though,  how  the  acquired 
nature  made  a  struggle  to  assert  itself,  and  the 
practical  side  of  him,  developed  in  the  busy  markets 
of  the  world,  protested.  It  was  automatic  rather, 
and  at  best  not  very  persistent ;  it  soon  died  away. 
But,  seeing  the  gravel  everywhere,  he  wondered  if 
there  might  not  be  valuable  clay  about,  what  labour 
cost,  and  what  the  nearest  stations  were  for  haulage  ; 


„i  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND         33 

and,  seeing  the  hop-poles,  he  caught  himself  specu- 
lating what  wood  they  were  made  of,  and  what 
varnish  would  best  prevent  their  buried  points  from 
going  rotten  in  this  particular  soil.  There  was  a 
surge  of  practical  considerations,  but  quickly  fading. 
The  last  one  was  stirred  by  the  dust  of  a  leisurely 
butcher's  cart.  He  had  visions  of  a  paste  for  motor- 
roads,  or  something  to  lay  dust  .  .  .  but,  before  the 
dust  had  settled  again  through  the  sunshine  about 
his  feet,  or  the  rumble  of  the  cart  died  away  into 
distance,  the  thought  vanished  like  a  nightmare  in 
the  dawn.  It  ran  away  over  the  switchback  of  the 
years,  uphill  to  Midsummer,  downhill  to  Christmas, 
jumping  a  ditch  at  Easter,  and  a  hedge  at  that  terrible 
thing  known  as  '  'Clipse  of  the  Moon.'  The  leaves 
of  the  elm  trees  whispered  overhead.  He  was 
moving  through  an  avenue  that  led  towards  big 
iron  gates  beside  a  little  porter's  lodge.  He  saw  the 
hollies,  and  smelt  the  laurustinus.  There  lay  the 
triangle  of  uncut  grass  at  the  cross-roads,  the  long, 
grey,  wooden  palings  built  upon  moss-grown  bricks  ; 
and  against  the  sky  he  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
feathery,  velvet  cedar  crests,  crests  that  once  held 
nails  of  golden  meteors  for  his  Net  of  Stars. 

Determined  to  enjoy  his  cake  and  eat  it  at  the 
same  time  as  long  as  possible,  he  walked  down  the 
road  a  little  distance,  eyeing  the  lawns  and  windows 
of  the  house  through  narrow  gaps  between  the  board- 
ing of  the  fence.  He  prolonged  the  pleasures  of 
anticipation  thus,  and,  besides,  he  wished  to  see  if  the 
place  was  occupied  or  empty.  It  looked  unkempt 
rather,  the  gardens  somewhat  neglected,  and  yet 
there  hung  an  air  of  occupancy  about  it  all.  He  had 
heard  the  house  had  changed  hands  several  times. 
But    it   was   difficult    to    see   clearly  ;     the   sunshine 

D 


34  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

dazzled  ;  the  lilac  and  laburnum  scattered  sheets  of 
colour  through  which  the  shadows  wove  themselves 
an  obscuring  veil.  He  kept  seeing  butterflies  and 
chasing  them  with  his  sight. 

'  Can  you  tell  me  if  this  house  is  occupied  ? '  he 
asked  abruptly  of  an  old  gentleman  who  coughed 
suddenly  behind  him. 

It  was  an  explanation  as  well  as  a  question,  for 
the  passer-by  had  surprised  him  in  a  remarkable 
attitude.  He  was  standing  on  tiptoe  upon  the 
parapet  of  brick,  pulling  himself  up  above  the  fence 
by  his  hands,  and  his  hat  had  fallen  into  the  road. 

'  The  shrubberies  are  so  dense  I  can't  see  through 
them,'  he  added,  landing  upon  his  feet  with  a  jump, 
a  little  breathless.  He  felt  rather  foolish.  He  was 
glad  the  stranger  was  not  Minks  or  one  of  his  fellow 
directors.  '  The  fact  is  I  lived  here  as  a  boy.  I'm 
not  a  burglar.' 

But  the  old  gentleman — a  clergyman  apparently — 
stood  there  smiling  without  a  word  as  he  handed  him 
the  fallen  hat.  He  was  staring  rather  intently  into 
his  eyes. 

1  Ahem  ! '  coughed  Mr.  Rogers,  to  fill  an  awkward 
gap.  '  You're  very  kind,  sir,'  and  he  took  the  hat 
and  brushed  the  dust  off.  Something  brushed  off 
his  sight  and  memory  at  the  same  time. 

'  Ahem  '  coughed  the  other,  still  staring.     '  Please 

do  not  mention  it '  adding  after  a  second's  pause, 

to   the   complete    amazement   of  his   listener,    '  Mr. 
Rogers.' 

And  then  it  dawned  upon  him.  Something  in 
the  charming,  peace-lit  face  was  strangely  familiar. 

'  I  say,'  he  exclaimed  eagerly,  '  this  is  a  pleasure,' 
and  then  repeated  with  even  greater  emphasis,  '  but 
this  is  a   pleasure,  indeed.     Who  ever  would  have 


in  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  35 

thought  it?'  he  added  with  delicious  ambiguity. 
He  seized  the  outstretched  hand  and  shook  it 
warmly — the  hand  of  the  old  vicar  who  had  once 
been  his  tutor  too. 

'  You've  come  back  to  your  boyhood,  then.  Is 
that  it  ?  And  to  see  the  old  place  and — your  old 
friends  ? '  asked  the  other  with  his  beautiful,  kindly 
smile  that  even  false  quantities  had  never  been  able 
to  spoil.  '  We've  not  forgotten  you  as  you've  for- 
gotten us,  you  see,'  he  added  ;  '  and  the  place,  though 
empty  now  for  years,  has  not  forgotten  you  either, 
I'll  be  bound.' 

They  stood  there  in  the  sunshine  on  the  dusty 
road  talking  of  a  hundred  half-forgotten  things,  as 
the  haze  of  memory  lifted,  and  scenes  and  pictures, 
names  and  faces,  details  of  fun  and  mischief  rained 
upon  him  like  flowers  in  a  sudden  wind  of  spring. 
The  voice  and  face  of  his  old  tutor  bridged  the  years 
like  magic.  Time  had  stood  still  here  in  this  fair 
Kentish  garden.  The  little  man  in  black  who  came 
every  Saturday  morning  with  his  dingy  bag  had  for- 
gotten to  wind  the  clocks,  perhaps.   .   .   . 

'  But  you  will  like  to  go  inside  and  see  it  all  for 
yourself — alone,'  the  Vicar  said  at  length.  '  My 
housekeeper  has  the  keys.  I'll  send  a  boy  with  them 
to  the  lodge.  It  won't  take  five  minutes.  And  then 
you  must  come  up  to  the  Vicarage  for  tea — or  dinner 
if  you're  kept — and  stay  the  night.  My  married 
daughter — you  remember  Joan  and  May,  of  course  ? 
— is  with  us  just  now  ;  she'll  be  so  very  glad  to  see 
you.     You  know  the  way.' 

And  he  moved  off  down  the  country  road,  still 
vigorous  at  seventy,  with  his  black  straw  hat  and  big 
square-toed  boots,  his  shoulders  hardly  more  bent 
than  when  his  mischievous   pupil   had   called   every 


36  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap 

morning  with  Vero-il  and  Todhunter  underneath  one 
arm,  and  in  his  heart  a  lust  to  hurry  after  sleepy 
rabbits  in  the  field. 

'  My  married  daughter — you  remember  May  ? ' 

The  blue-eyed  girl  of  his  boyhood  passion  flitted 
beside  his  disappearing  figure.  He  remembered  the 
last  time  he  saw  her — refusing  to  help  her  from  a 
place  of  danger  in  the  cedar  branches — when  he  put 
his  love  into  a  single  eloquent  phrase  :  '  You  silly 
ass  ! '  then  cast  her  adrift  for  ever  because  she  said 
'  Thanks  awfully,'  and  gave  him  a  great  wet  kiss. 
But  he  thought  a  lot  of  her  all  the  same,  and  the 
thoughts  had  continued  until  the  uproar  in  the  City 
drowned  them. 

Thoughts  crowded  thick  and  fast. 

How  vital  thinking  was  after  all  !  Nothing 
seemed  able  to  kill  its  eternal  pictures.  The  co- 
incidence of  meeting  his  old  tutor  again  was  like 
a  story-book,  though  in  reality  likely  enough  ;  for 
his  own  face  was  not  so  greatly  altered  by  the  close 
brown  beard  perhaps  ;  and  the  Vicar  had  grown 
smaller,  that  was  all.  Like  everything  else,  he  had 
shrunk,  of  course — like  road  and  station-master  and 
water-works.  He  had  almost  said,  '  You,  too,  have 
shrunk '  —  but  otherwise  was  the  same  old  fluffy 
personality  that  no  doubt  still  got  sadly  muddled 
in  his  sermons,  gave  out  wrong  hymns,  and  spent 
his  entire  worldly  substance  on  his  scattered  parish. 
His  voice  was  softer  too.  It  rang  in  his  ears  still, 
as  though  there  had  been  no  break  of  over  two 
decades.  The  hum  of  bees  and  scythes  was  in  it 
just  as  when  it  came  through  the  open  study 
window  while  he  construed  the  Georgics.  .  .  .  But, 
most  clearly  of  all,  he  heard  two  sentences — 

*  You   have    come   back   to   your   boyhood,'   and 


in  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  37 

'The  empty  place  has  not  forgotten  you,  I'll  be 
bound.'  Both  seemed  significant.  They  hummed 
and  murmured  through  his  mind.  That  old  net 
of  starlight  somehow  caught  them  in  its  golden 
meshes. 


CHAPTER   IV 

A  Spirit  gripped  him  by  the  hair  and  carried  him  far  away, 

Till  he  heard  as  the  roar  of  a  rain-fed  ford  the  roar  of  the  Milky  Way  : 

Till  he  heard  the  roar  of  the  Milky  Way  die  down  and  drone  and  cease. 

Tomlinson,  R.  Kipling. 

The  boy  presently  came  up  in  a  cloud  of  dust  with 
the  key,  and  ran  off  again  with  a  shilling  in  his 
pocket,  while  Henry  Rogers,  budding  philanthropist 
and  re-awakening  dreamer,  went  down  the  hill  of 
memories  at  high  speed  that  a  doctor  would  have 
said  was  dangerous,  a  philosopher  morbid,  and  the 
City  decreed  unanimously  as  waste  of  time. 

He  went  over  the  house  from  cellar  to  ceiling.  .  . 

And  finally  he  passed  through  a  back  door  in  the 
scullery  and  came  out  upon  the  lawn.  With  a  shock 
he  realised  that  a  long  time  had  intervened.  The 
dusk  was  falling.  The  rustle  of  its  wings  was 
already  in  the  shrubberies.  He  had  missed  the  tea 
hour  altogether.  And,  as  he  walked  there,  so  softly 
that  he  hardly  disturbed  the  thrushes  that  busily 
tapped  the  dewy  grass  for  supper,  he  knew  suddenly 
that  he  was  not  alone,  but  that  shadowy  figures  hid 
everywhere,  watching,  waiting,  wondering  like  him- 
self. They  trooped  after  him,  invisible  and  silent, 
as  he  went  about  the  old  familiar  garden,  finding 
nothing  changed.  They  were  so  real  that  once  he 
stopped  beneath  the  lime  trees,  where  afternoon  tea 
was  served  in  summer,  and  where  the  Long  Walk 

38 


ch.  iv      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  39 

began  its  haunted,  shadowy  existence — stood  still  a 
moment  and  called  to  them — 

'  Is  any  one  there  ?  Come  out  and  show  your- 
selves. .   .   . ! ' 

And  though  his  voice  fell  dead  among  the 
foliage,  winning  echoes  from  spots  whence  no 
echoes  possibly  could  come,  and  rushing  back  upon 
him  like  a  boomerang,  he  got  the  curious  impression 
that  it  had  penetrated  into  certain  corners  of  the 
shrubberies  where  it  had  been  heard  and  understood. 
Answers  did  not  come.  They  were  no  more  audible 
than  the  tapping  of  the  thrushes,  or  the  little  feet  of 
darkness  that  ran  towards  him  from  the  eastern  sky. 
But  they  were  there.  The  troop  of  Presences  drew 
closer.  They  had  been  creeping  on  all  fours.  They 
now  stood  up.  The  entire  garden  was  inhabited  and 
alive. 

*  He  has  come  back  !  ' 

It  ran  in  a  muted  whisper  like  a  hush  of  wind. 
The  thrill  of  it  passed  across  the  lawn  in  the  dusk. 
The  dark  tunnel  of  the  Long  Walk  filled  suddenly 
to  the  brim.  The  thrushes  raised  their  heads,  peep- 
ing sideways  to  listen,  on  their  guard.  Then  the 
leaves  opened  a  little  and  the  troop  ventured  nearer. 
The  doors  and  windows  of  the  silent,  staring  house 
had  also  opened.  From  the  high  nursery  windows 
especially,  queer  shapes  of  shadow  flitted  down  to 
join  the  others.  For  the  sun  was  far  away  behind 
the  cedars  now,  and  that  Net  of  Starlight  dropped 
downwards  through  the  air.  So  carefully  had 
he  woven  it  years  ago  that  hardly  a  mesh  was 
torn.   .   .   . 

'  He  has  coyne  back  again  .  .  .  / '  the  whisper  ran 
a  second  time,  and  he  looked  about  him  for  a  place 
where  he  could  hide. 


4o  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

But  there  was  no  place.  Escape  from  the  golden 
net  was  now  impossible.   .   .   . 

Then  suddenly,  looming  against  the  field  that  held 
the  Gravel-Pit  and  the  sleeping  rabbits,  he  saw  the 
outline  of  the  Third  Class  Railway  Carriage  his  father 
bought  as  a  Christmas  present,  still  standing  on  the 
stone  supports  that  were  borrowed  from  a  haystack. 

That  Railway  Carriage  had  filled  whole  years  with 
joy  and  wonder.  They  had  called  it  the  Starlight 
Express.  It  had  four  doors,  real  lamps  in  the  roof, 
windows  that  opened  and  shut,  and  big  round  buffers. 
It  started  without  warning.  It  went  at  full  speed  in 
a  moment.  It  was  never  really  still.  The  foot- 
boards were  endless  and  very  dangerous. 

He  saw  the  carriage  with  its  four  compartments 
still  standing  there  in  the  hayfield.  It  looked  mys- 
terious, old,  and  enormous  as  ever.  There  it  still 
stood  as  in  his  boyhood  days,  but  stood  neglected 
and  unused. 

The  memory  of  the  thrilling  journeys  he  had 
made  in  this  Starlight  Express  completed  his  re- 
capture, for  he  knew  now  who  the  troop  of  Presences 
all  about  him  really  were.  The  passengers,  still 
waiting  after  twenty  years'  delay,  thinking  perhaps 
the  train  would  never  start  again,  were  now  im- 
patient. They  had  caught  their  engine-driver  again 
at  last.  Steam  was  up.  Already  the  blackbirds 
whistled.  And  something  utterly  wild  and  reckless 
in  him  passionately  broke  its  bonds  with  a  flood  of 
longings  that  no  amount  of  years  or  '  Cities '  could 
ever  subdue  again.  He  stepped  out  from  the  dozing 
lime  trees  and  held  his  hat  up  like  a  flag. 

'  Take  your  seats,'  he  cried  as  of  old,  '  for  the 
Starlight  Express.  Take  your  seats  !  No  luggage 
allowed  !      Animals   free  !      Passengers  with   special 


iv  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAxND  41 

tickets  may  drive  the  engine  in  their  turn  !  First 
stop  the  Milky  Way  for  hot  refreshments  !  Take 
your  seats,  or  stay  at  home  for  ever  !  ' 

It  was  the  old  cry,  still  remembered  accurately  ; 
and  the  response  was  immediate.  The  rush  of 
travellers  from  the  Long  Walk  nearly  took  him 
off  his  feet.  From  the  house  came  streams  of 
silent  figures,  families  from  the  shrubberies,  tourists 
from  the  laurels  by  the  scullery  windows,  and  throngs 
of  breathless  oddities  from  the  kitchen-garden.  The 
lawn  was  littered  with  discarded  luggage  ;  umbrellas 
dropped  on  flower-beds,  where  they  instantly  took 
root  and  grew  ;  animals  ran  scuttling  among  them — 
birds,  ponies,  dogs,  kittens,  donkeys,  and  white  mice 
in  trailing  swarms.  There  was  not  a  minute  to  spare. 
One  big  Newfoundland  brought  several  Persian  kittens 
on  his  back,  their  tails  behind  them  in  the  air  like 
signals  ;  a  dignified  black  retriever  held  a  baby  in  his 
mouth  ;  and  fat  children  by  the  score,  with  unfastened 
clothes  and  smudged  faces,  many  of  them  in  their  night- 
clothes,  poured  along  in  hurrying,  silent  crowds,  softer 
than  clouds  that  hide  a  crescent  moon  in  summer. 

1  But  this  is  impossible,'  he  cried  to  himself.  '  The 
multiplication  tables  have  gone  wrong.  The  City  has 
driven  me  mad.  No  shareholder  would  stand  such 
a  thing  for  a  minute  !  ' 

While,  at  the  same  time,  that  other  voice  in  him 
kept  shouting,  ever  more  loudly — 

'  Take  your  seats  !  Take  your  seats  !  The  Star- 
light Express  is  off  to  Fairyland  !  Show  your  tickets  ! 
Show  your  tickets  ! ' 

He  laughed  with  happiness. 

The  throng  and  rush  were  at  first  so  great  that 
he  recognised  hardly  any  of  the  passengers  ;  but,  the 
first  press  over,  he  saw  several  bringing  up  the  rear 


42  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

who  were  as  familiar  as  of  yesterday.  They  nodded 
kindly  to  him  as  they  passed,  no  sign  of  reproach 
for  the  long  delay  in  their  friendly  eyes.  He  had 
left  his  place  beside  the  lime  trees,  and  now  stood 
at  the  carriage  door,  taking  careful  note  of  each 
one  as  he  showed  his  ticket  to  the  Guard.  And 
the  Guard  was  the  blue-eyed  girl.  She  did  not 
clip  the  tickets,  but  merely  looked  at  them.  She 
looked,  first  at  the  ticket,  then  into  the  face  of  the 
passenger.  The  glance  of  the  blue  eyes  was  the 
passport.  Of  course,  he  remembered  now — both 
guard  and  engine-driver  were  obliged  to  have  blue 
eyes.  Blue  eyes  furnished  the  motor-power  and 
scenery  and  everything.  It  was  the  spell  that 
managed  the  whole  business — the  Spell  of  the  Big 
Blue  eyes — blue,  the  colour  of  youth  and  distance, 
of  sky  and  summer  flowers,  of  childhood. 

He  watched  these  last  passengers  come  up  one 
by  one,  and  as  they  filed  past  him  he  exchanged  a 
word  with  each.  How  pleased  they  were  to  see 
him  !  But  how  ashamed  he  felt  for  having  been 
so  long  away.  Not  one,  however,  reminded  him  of 
it,  and — what  touched  him  most  of  all — not  one 
suspected  he  had  nearly  gone  for  good.  All  knew 
he  would  come  back. 

What  looked  like  a  rag-and-bone  man  blundered 
up  first,  his  face  a  perfect  tangle  of  beard  and  hair, 
and  the  eyebrows  like  bits  of  tow  stuck  on  with 
sealing-wax.  It  was  The  Tramp — Traveller  of  the 
World,  the  Eternal  Wanderer,  homeless  as  the 
wind ;  his  vivid  personality  had  haunted  all  the 
lanes  of  childhood.  And,  as  Rogers  nodded  kindly 
to  him,  the  figure  waited  for  something  more. 

1  Ain't  forgot  the  rhyme,  'ave  yer  ? '  he  asked  in 
a  husky  voice  that  seemed  to  issue  from  the  ground 


iv  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  43 

beneath  his  broken  boots.  '  The  rhyme  we  used  to 
sing  together  in  the  Noight-Nursery  when  I  put  my 
faice  agin'  the  bars,  after  climbin'  along  'arf  a  mile 
of  slippery  slaites  to  git  there.' 

And  Rogers,  smiling,  found  himself  saying  it, 
while  the  pretty  Guard  fixed  her  blue  eyes  on  his 
face  and  waited  patiently  : — 

I  travel  far  and  wide, 
But  in  my  own  inside  ! 

Such  places 

And  queer  races  ! 
I  never  go  to  them,  you  see, 
Because  they  always  come  to  me  ! 

'Take  your  seat,  please,'  cried  the  Guard.  'No 
luggage,  you  know  ! '  She  pushed  him  in  sideways, 
first  making  him  drop  his  dirty  bundle. 

With  a  quick,  light  step  a  very  thin  man  hurried 
up.  He  had  no  luggage,  but  carried  on  his  shoulder 
a  long  stick  with  a  point  of  gold  at  its  tip. 

1  Light  the  lamps,'  said  the  Guard  impatiently, 
*  and  then  sit  on  the  back  buffers  and  hold  your  pole 
out  to  warn  the  shooting  stars.' 

He  hopped  in,  though  not  before  Rogers  had 
passed  the  time  of  night  with  him  first  : — 

I  stand  behind  the  sky,  and  light  the  stars, — - 
Except  on  cloudy  nights  ; 
And  then  my  head 
Remains  in  bed, 
And  takes  along  the  ceiling — easier  flights ! 

Others  followed  quickly  then,  too  quickly  for  com- 
plete recognition.  Besides,  the  Guard  was  getting 
more  and  more  impatient. 

'  You've  clean  forgotten  me]  said  one  who  had  an 
awful  air  of  darkness  about  him  ;  *  and  no  wonder, 


44  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

because  you  never  saw  me  properly.  On  Sundays, 
when  I  was  nicely  washed  up  you  couldn't  'ardly 
reckernise  me.     Nachural  'nuff,  too  !  ' 

He  shot  by  like  a  shadow,  then  pulled  up  a 
window  with  a  rattle,  popped  his  dirty  head  out, 
and  called  back  thickly  as  if  his  mouth  was  full  of 
smoke  or  pudding  : — 

The  darkness  suits  me  best, 

For  my  old  face 

Is  out  of  place, 

Except  in  chimney  stacks  ! 

Upon  my  crown 

The  soot  comes  down 

Filling  my  eyes  with  blacks. 

Don't  light  the  fire, 

Or  I'd .' 

*  Stop  it ! '  cried  the  Guard,  shutting  the  window 
with  a  snap,  so  that  Rogers  never  knew  whether  the 
missing  word  used  to  be  '  expire  '  or  '  perspire  '  ; 
'  and  go  on  to  your  proper  place  on  the  tender.' 
Then  she  turned  quickly  to  fix  her  big  blue  eyes 
upon  the  next  comer. 

And  how  they  did  come,  to  be  sure  !  There  was 
the  Gypsy,  the  Creature  of  the  Gravel-Pit,  the  long- 
legged,  long-armed  thing  from  the  Long  Walk — she 
could  make  her  arm  stretch  the  whole  length  like 
elastic — the  enormous  Woman  of  the  Haystack,  who 
lived  beneath  the  huge  tarpaulin  cover,  the  owner  of 
the  Big  Cedar,  and  the  owner  of  the  Little  Cedar,  all 
treading  fast  upon  one  another's  heels. 

From  the  Blue  Summer-house  came  the  Laugher 
Rogers  remembered  pretending  once  that  he  was 
going  to  faint.  He  had  thrown  himself  upon  the 
summer-house  floor  and  kicked,  and  the  blue-eyed 
girl,  instead  of  being  thrilled  as  both  anticipated,  had 
laughed  abominably. 


iv  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  45 

*  Fainters  don't  kick  !  '  she  had  said  with  scorn, 
while  he  had  answered,  though  without  conviction, 
'  Men-fainters  do — kick  dreadfully.'  And  she  had 
simply  laughed  till  her  sides  ached,  while  he  lay  there 
kicking  till  his  muscles  were  sore,  in  the  vain  hope  of 
winning  her  belief. 

He  exchanged  a  glance  with  her  now,  as  the 
Laugher  slipped  in  past  them.  The  eyes  of  the 
Guard  were  very  soft.  He  was  found  out  and  for- 
given at  the  same  time. 

Then  came  the  very  mysterious  figure  of  authority 
— the  Head  Gardener,  a  composite  being  who  in- 
cluded all  the  lesser  under-gardeners  as  well.  His 
sunburned  face  presented  a  resume  of  them  all.  He 
was  the  man  who  burned  the  hills  of  dead  leaves  in 
autumn. 

'  Give  me  of  your  fire,  please,'  whispered  Rogers, 
something  between  joy  and  sadness  in  his  heart, 
'  for  there  are  hills  of  leaves  that  I  would  burn  up 

quickly '   but   the    man   hurried   on,  tossing   his 

trowel  over  the  Guard's  head,  and  nearly  hitting 
another  passenger  who  followed  too  close.  This 
was  the  Woman  of  the  Haystack,  an  enormous, 
spreading  traveller  who  utterly  refused  to  be  hurried, 
and  only  squeezed  through  the  door  because  Rogers, 
the  Guard,  and  several  others  pushed  behind  with 
all  their  might,  while  the  Sweep,  the  Tramp,  and 
those  already  in  tugged  breathlessly  at  the  same 
time.  .   .  . 

Last  of  all,  just  as  the  train  was  starting,  came  a 
hurrying  shadowy  thing  with  dreamy  eyes,  long  hair 
like  waving  grass,  and  open  hands  that  he  spread 
like  wings,  as  though  he  were  sowing  something 
through  the  air.  And  he  was  singing  softly  as  he 
came  fumbling  along  the  byeways  of  the  dusk. 


46  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

1  Oh,  but  I  know  you  well,'  cried  Rogers,  watch- 
ing him  come  with  a  thrill  of  secret  wonder,  '  and  I 
love  you  better  than  all  the  rest  together.' 

The  face  was  hidden  as  he  wafted  silently  past 
them.  A  delicious  odour  followed  him.  And  some- 
thing, fine  as  star-dust,  as  he  scattered  it  all  about 
him,  sifted  down  before  the  other's  sight.  The 
Dustman  entered  like  a  ghost. 

'  Oh,  give  me  of  your  dust ! '  cried  Rogers  again, 
*  for  there  are  eyes  that  I  would  blind  with  it — eyes 
in  the  world  that  I  would  blind  with  it — your  dust 
of  dreams  and  beauty  .   .   .  ! ' 

The  man  waved  a  shadowy  hand  towards  him, 
and  his  own  eyes  filled.  He  closed  the  lids  a 
moment  ;  and  when  he  opened  them  again  he  saw 
two  monster  meteors  in  the  sky.  They  crossed  in 
two  big  lines  of  glory  above  the  house,  dropping 
towards  the  cedars.  The  Net  of  Stars  was  being 
fastened.  He  remembered  then  his  old  Star  Cave — 
cave  where  lost  starlight  was  stored  up  by  these 
sprites  for  future  use. 

He  just  had  time  to  seize  the  little  hand  the 
Guard  held  out,  and  to  drop  into  a  seat  beside  her, 
when  the  train  began  to  move.  It  rose  soundlessly 
with  lightning  speed.  It  shot  up  to  a  tremendous 
height,  then  paused,  hovering  in  the  night. 

The  Guard  turned  her  big  blue  eyes  upon  him. 

*  Where  to  ? '  she  whispered.  And  he  suddenly 
remembered  that  it  was  always  he  who  decided  the 
destination,  and  that  this  time  he  was  at  a  loss  what 
to  say. 

*  The  Star  Cave,  of  course,'  he  cried,  *  the  cave 
where  the  lost  starlight  gathers.' 

'  Which  direction  ? '  she  asked,  with  the  yellow 
whistle  to  her  lips  ready  to  signal  the  driver. 


,v  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  47 

'  Oh,  out  there — to  the  north-west,'  he  answered, 
'to  the  mountains  of across  the  Channel.' 

But  this  was  not  precise  enough.  Formerly  he 
had  always  given  very  precise  directions. 

'  Name,  please,'  she  urged,  '  but  quickly.  The 
Interfering  Sun,  you  know — there's  no  time  to  lose. 
We  shall  be  meeting  the  Morning  Spiders  soon.' 

The  Morning  Spiders  !  How  it  all  came  back  ! 
The  Morning  Spiders  that  fly  over  the  fields  in  the 
dawn  upon  their  private  threads  of  gossamer  and 
fairy  cotton. 

He  remembered  that,  as  children,  they  had  never 
actually  found  this  Star  Cave,  for  the  Interfering  Sun 
had  always  come  too  soon  and  spoilt  it  all. 

*  Name,  please,  and  do  hurry  up.  We  can't 
hover  here  all  night,'  rang  in  his  ears. 

And  he  made  a  plunge.  He  suddenly  thought  of 
Bourcelles,  the  little  village  in  the  Jura  mountains, 
where  he  and  his  cousin  had  spent  a  year  learning 
French.  The  idea  flashed  into  him  probably  because 
it  contained  mountains,  caves,  and  children.  His 
cousin  lived  there  now  to  educate  his  children  and 
write  his  books.  Only  that  morning  he  had  got  a 
letter  from  him. 

*  Bourcelles,  of  course,  Bourcelles  ! '  he  cried, 
'  and  steer  for  the  slopes  of  Boudry  where  the  forests 
dip  towards  the  precipices  of  the  Areuse.  I'll  send 
word  to  the  children  to  meet  us.' 

*  Splendid  !  '  cried  the  Guard,  and  kissed  him 
with  delight.  The  whistle  shrieked,  the  train  turned 
swiftly  in  a  tremendous  sweeping  curve,  and  vanished 
along  the  intricate  star-rails  into  space,  humming 
and  booming  as  it  went.  It  flew  a  mane  of  stars 
behind  it  through  the  sky. 


CHAPTER  V 

Oh  !  thou  art  fairer  than  the  evening  air 
Clad  in  the  beauty  of  a  thousand  stars. 

Doctor  Faustus,  Christopher   Marlowe, 

The  plop  of  a  water-rat  in  the  pond  that  occupied 
the  rock-garden  in  the  middle  of  the  lawn  brought 
him  back  to  earth,  and  the  Vicar's  invitation  to  tea 
flashed  across  his  mind. 

'  Stock  Exchange  and  typewriters  ! '  he  exclaimed, 
'  how  rude  he'll  think  me  !'  And  he  rubbed  some- 
thing out  of  his  eyes.  He  gave  one  long,  yearning 
glance  at  the  spangled  sky  where  an  inquisitive  bat 
darted  zigzag  several  times  between  himself  and  the 
Pleiades,  that  bunch  of  star-babies  as  yet  unborn,  as 
the  blue-eyed  guard  used  to  call  them. 

1  And  I  shall  miss  my  supper  and  bed  into  the 
bargain  ! ' 

He  turned  reluctantly  from  his  place  beside  the 
lime  trees,  and  crossed  the  lawn  now  wet  with  dew. 
The  whole  house  seemed  to  turn  its  hooded  head 
and  watch  him  go,  staring  with  amusement  in  its 
many  lidless  eyes.  On  the  front  lawn  there  was 
more  light,  for  it  faced  the  dying  sunset.  The  Big 
and  Little  Cedar  rose  from  their  pools  of  shadow, 
beautifully  poised.  Like  stately  dowagers  in  volu- 
minous skirts  of  velvet  they  seemed  to  curtsey  to 
him  as  he  passed.     Stars  like  clusters  of  sprinkled 

48 


ch.v       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  49 

blossoms  hung  upon  their  dignified  old  heads.  The 
whole  place  seemed  aware  of  him.  Glancing  a 
moment  at  the  upper  nursery  windows,  he  could  just 
distinguish  the  bars  through  which  his  little  hands 
once  netted  stars,  and  as  he  did  so  a  meteor  shot 
across  the  sky  its  flashing  light  of  wonder.  Behind 
the  Little  Cedar  it  dived  into  the  sunset  afterglow. 
And,  hardly  had  it  dipped  away,  when  another,  com- 
ing crosswise  from  the  south,  drove  its  length  of 
molten,  shining  wire  straight  against  the  shoulder  of 
the  Big  Cedar. 

The  whole  performance  seemed  arranged  ex- 
pressly for  his  benefit.  The  Net  was  loosed — this 
Net  of  Stars  and  Thoughts — perhaps  to  go  else- 
where. For  this  was  taking  out  the  golden  nails, 
surely.  It  would  hardly  have  surprised  him  next  to 
see  the  Starlight  Express  he  had  been  dreaming  about 
dart  across  the  heavens  overhead.  That  cool  air 
stealing  towards  him  from  the  kitchen-garden  might 
well  have  been  the  wind  of  its  going.  He  could 
almost  hear  the  distant  rush  and  murmur  of  its  flying 
mass. 

'  How  extraordinarily  vivid  it  all  was  ! '  he  thought 
to  himself,  as  he  hurried  down  the  drive.  c  What 
detail  !  What  a  sense  of  reality  !  How  carefully  I 
must  have  thought  these  creatures  as  a  boy  !  How 
thoroughly !  And  what  a  good  idea  to  go  out  and 
see  Jack's  children  at  Bourcelles.  They've  never 
known  these  English  sprites.      I'll  introduce  'em  ! ' 

He  thought  it  out  in  detail,  very  vividly  indeed. 
His  imagination  lingered  over  it  and  gave  it  singular 
reality. 

Up  the  road  he  fairly  ran.  For  Henry  Rogers 
was  a  punctual  man  ;  these  last  twenty  years  he  had 
never  once  been  late  for  anything.      It  had  been  part 

E 


50  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

of  the  exact  training  he  had  schooled  himself  with, 
and  the  Vicar's  invitation  was  not  one  he  desired  to 
trifle  with.  He  made  his  peace,  indeed,  easily  enough, 
although  the  excuses  sounded  a  little  thin.  It  was 
something  of  a  shock,  too,  to  find  that  the  married 
daughter  after  all  was  not  the  blue-eyed  girl  of  his 
boyhood's  passion.  For  it  was  Joan,  not  May,  who 
came  down  the  gravel  path  between  the  roses  to 
greet  him. 

On  the  way  up  he  had  felt  puzzled.  Yet  '  be- 
mused,' perhaps,  is  the  word  that  Herbert  Minks 
would  have  chosen  for  one  of  his  poems,  to  describe 
a  state  of  mind  he,  however,  had  never  experienced 
himself.  And  he  would  have  chosen  it  instinctively 
— for  onomatopoeic  reasons — because  it  hums  and 
drones  and  murmurs  dreamily.  '  Puzzled  '  was  too 
sharp  a  word. 

Yet  Henry  Rogers,  who  felt  it,  said  '  puzzled ' 
without  more  ado,  although  mind,  imagination, 
memory  all  hummed  and  buzzed  pleasantly  about  his 
ears  even  while  he  did  so. 

'A  dream  is  a  dream,'  he  reflected  as  he  raced 
along  the  familiar  dusty  road  in  the  twilight,  '  and  a 
reverie  is  a  reverie  ;  but  that,  I'd  swear,  went  a  bit 
further  than  either  one  or  t'other.  It  puzzles  me. 
Does  vivid  thinking,  I  wonder,  make  pictures  every- 
where ?  .   .   .  And — can  they  last  ? ' 

For  the  detailed  reality  of  the  experience  had  been 
remarkable,  and  the  actuality  of  those  childhood's 
creations  scarcely  belonged  to  dream  or  reverie. 
They  were  certainly  quite  as  real  as  the  sleek  Directors 
who  sat  round  the  long  Board  Room  table,  fidgeting 
with  fat  quill  pens  and  pewter  ink-pots  ;  more  alive 
even  than  the  Leading  Shareholder  who  rose  so 
pompously  at  Annual  Meetings  to  second  the  resolu- 


v  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  51 

tion  that  the  '  Report  and  Balance  Sheet  be  adopted 
without  criticism.' 

And  he  was  conscious  that  in  himself  rose,  too, 
a  deep,  passionate  willingness  to  accept  the  whole 
experience,  also  '  without  criticism.'  Those  picturesque 
passengers  in  the  Starlight  Express  he  knew  so  inti- 
mately, so  affectionately,  that  he  actually  missed 
them.  He  felt  that  he  had  said  good-bye  to  genuine 
people.  He  regretted  their  departure,  and  was 
keenly  sorry  he  had  not  gone  off"  with  them — such 
a  merry,  wild,  adventurous  crew !  He  must  find 
them  again,  whatever  happened.  There  was  a  yearn- 
ing in  him  to  travel  with  that  blue-eyed  guard  among 
the  star-fields.  He  would  go  out  to  Bourcelles  and 
tell  the  story  to  the  children.  He  thought  very 
hard  indeed  about  it  all. 

And  now,  in  the  Vicarage  drawing-room  after 
dinner,  his  bemusement  increased  rather  than  grew 
less.  His  mind  had  already  confused  a  face  and 
name.  The  blue-eyed  May  was  not,  after  all,  the 
girl  of  his  boyhood's  dream.  His  memory  had  been 
accurate  enough  with  the  passengers  in  the  train. 
There  was  no  confusion  there.  But  this  gentle 
married  woman,  who  sang  to  her  own  accompaniment 
at  her  father's  request,  was  not  the  mischievous, 
wilful  creature  who  had  teased  and  tortured  his  heart 
in  years  gone  by,  and  had  helped  him  construct 
the  sprites  and  train  and  star-trips.  It  was,  surely, 
the  other  daughter  who  had  played  that  delicious 
role.  Yet,  either  his  memory  was  at  fault,  or  the 
Vicar  had  mixed  the  names  up.  The  years  had 
played  this  little  unimportant  trick  upon  him  any- 
how.    And  that  was  clear. 

But  if  with  so-called  real  people  such  an  error 
was   possible,   how   could   he   be  sure   of  anything  ? 


52  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap 

Which  after  all,  he  asked  himself,  was  real  ?  It  was 
the  Vicar's  mistake,  he  learned  later,  for  May  was 
now  a  teacher  in  London  ;  but  the  trivial  incident 
served  to  point  this  confusion  in  his  mind  between 
an  outer  and  an  inner  world — to  the  disadvantage,  if 
anything,  of  the  former. 

And  over  the  glass  of  port  together,  while  they 
talked  pleasantly  of  vanished  days,  Rogers  was  con- 
scious that  a  queer,  secret  amusement  sheltered  in 
his  heart,  due  to  some  faint,  superior  knowledge  that 
this  Past  they  spoke  of  had  not  moved  away  at  all, 
but  listened  with  fun  and  laughter  just  behind  his 
shoulder,  watching  them.  The  old  gentleman  seemed 
never  tired  of  remembering  his  escapades.  He  told 
them  one  after  another,  like  some  affectionate  nurse 
or  mother,  Rogers  thought,  whose  children  were — 
to  her — unique  and  wonderful.  For  he  had  really 
loved  this  good-for-nothing  pupil,  loved  him  the 
more,  as  mothers  and  nurses  do,  because  of  the 
trouble  he  had  given,  and  because  of  his  busy  and 
fertile  imagination.  It  made  Rogers  feel  ridiculously 
young  again  as  he  listened.  He  could  almost  have 
played  a  trick  upon  him  then  and  there,  merely  to 
justify  the  tales.  And  once  or  twice  he  actually 
called  him  '  Sir.' 

So  that  even  the  conversation  helped  to  deepen 
this  bemusement  that  gathered  somewhat  tenderly 
about  his  mind.  He  cracked  his  walnuts  and  watched 
the  genial,  peace-lit  eyes  across  the  table.  He  chuckled. 
Both  chuckled.  They  spoke  of  his  worldly  success 
too — it  seemed  unimportant  somehow  now,  although 
he  was  conscious  that  something  in  him  expected, 
nay  demanded  tribute — but  the  former  tutor  kept 
reverting  to  the  earlier  days  before  achievement. 

'  You  were  indeed  a  boy  of  mischief,  wonder,  and 


v  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  $3 

mystery,'  he  said,  his  eyes  twinkling  and  his  tone 
almost  affectionate  ;  '  you  made  the  whole  place  alive 
with  those  creatures  of  your  imagination.  How  Joan 
helped  you  too — or  was  it  May  ?  I  used  to  wonder 
sometimes — '  he  glanced  up  rather  searchingly  at  his 
companion  a  moment — *  whether  the  people  who  took 
the  Manor  House  after  your  family  left  did  not 
encounter  them  sometimes  upon  the  lawn  or  among 
the  shrubberies  in  the  dusk — those  sprites  of  yours. 
Eh  ? '  He  passed  a  neatly  pared  walnut  across  the 
table  to  his  guest.  '  These  ghosts  that  people  now- 
adays explain  scientifically  —  what  are  they  but 
thoughts  visualised  by  vivid  thinking  such  as  yours 
was — creative  thinking?  They  may  be  just  pictures 
created  in  moments  of  strong  passionate  feeling  that 
persist  for  centuries  and  reach  other  minds  direct 
They're  not  seen  with  the  outer  eye  ;  that's  certain, 
for  no  two  people  ever  see  them  together.  But  I'm 
sure  these  pictures  flame  up  through  the  mind  some- 
times just  as  clearly  as  some  folk  see  Grey  Ladies 
and  the  rest  flit  down  the  stairs  at  midnight.' 

They  munched  their  walnuts  a  moment  in  silence. 
Rogers  listened  very  keenly.  How  curious,  he  re- 
flected, that  the  talk  should  lie  this  way.  But  he 
said  nothing,  hoping  that  the  other  would  go  on. 

i  And  if  you  really  believed  in  your  things,'  the 
older  man  continued  presently,  '  as  I  am  sure  you 
did  believe,  then  your  old  Dustman  and  Sweep  and 
Lamplighter,  your  Woman  of  the  Haystack  and 
your  Net  of  Stars  and  Star  Train — all  these,  for 
instance,  must  still  be  living,  where  you  left  them, 
waiting  perhaps  for  your  return  to  lead  their  fresh 
adventures.' 

Rogers  stared  at  him,  choking  a  little  over  a  nut 
he  had  swallowed  too  hurriedly 


54  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

'  Yet,'  mused  on  the  other,  '  it's  hardly  likely  the 
family  that  succeeded  you  met  them.  There  were 
no  children  !  ' 

'  Ah,'  exclaimed  the  pupil  impulsively,  '  that's 
significant,  yes — no  children.'  He  looked  up  quickly, 
questioningly. 

'  Very,  I  admit.' 

'  Besides,  the  chief  Magician  had  gone  away  into 
the  City.  They  wouldn't  answer  to  anybody's  call, 
you  know.' 

'  True  again.  But  the  Magician  never  forgot 
them  quite,  I'll  be  bound,'  he  added.  '  They're  only 
in  hiding  till  his  return,  perhaps  ! '  And  his  bright 
eyes  twinkled  knowingly. 

*  But,  Vicar,  really,  you  know,  that  is  an  extra- 
ordinary idea  you  have  there — a  wonderful  idea. 
Do  you  really  think ? ' 

'  I  only  mean,'  the  other  replied  more  gravely, 
'  that  what  a  man  thinks,  and  makes  with  thinking, 
is  the  real  thing.  It's  in  the  heart  that  sin  is  first 
real.  The  act  is  the  least  important  end  of  it — 
grave  only  because  it  is  the  inevitable  result  of  the 
thinking.  Action  is  merely  delayed  thinking,  after 
all.  Don't  think  ghosts  and  bogeys,  I  always  say  to 
children,  or  you'll  surely  see  them.' 

'  Ah,  in  that  sense !  ' 

'  In  any  sense  your  mind  and  intuition  can  grasp. 
The  thought  that  leaves  your  brain,  provided  it  be 
a  real  thought  strongly  fashioned,  goes  all  over  the 
world,  and  may  reach  any  other  brain  tuned  to  its 
acceptance.  You  should  understand  that ! '  he  laughed 
significantly. 

'  I  do/  said  Rogers  hastily,  as  though  he  felt 
ashamed  of  himself  or  were  acknowledging  a  fault 
in   his    construing   of    Homer.       *  I    understand    it 


v  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  S5 

perfectly.  Only  I  put  all  those  things — imaginative 
things — aside  when  I  went  into  business.  I  had  to 
concentrate  my  energies  upon  making  money.' 

'  You  did,  yes.  Ah  !  '  was  the  rejoinder,  as 
though  he  would  fain  have  added,  '  And  was  that 
wise  r 

'  And  I  made  it,  Vicar  ;  you  see,  I've  made  it.' 
He  was  not  exactly  nettled,  but  he  wanted  a  word  of 
recognition  for  his  success.  '  But  you  know  why, 
don't  you  ? '  he  added,  ashamed  the  same  moment. 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  both  looked 
closely  at  their  broken  nuts.  From  one  of  the  men 
came  a  sigh. 

'  Yes,'  resumed  the  older  man  presently,  '  I 
remember  your  great  dream  perfectly  well,  and  a 
noble  one  it  was  too.  Its  fulfilment  now,  I  suppose, 
lies  well  within  your  reach  ?  You  have  the  means  to 
carry  it  out,  eh  ?  You  have  indeed  been  truly 
blessed.'  He  eyed  him  again  with  uncommon 
keenness,  though  a  smile  ran  from  the  eyes  and 
mouth  even  up  to  the  forehead  and  silvery  hair. 
'  The  world,  I  see,  has  not  yet  poisoned  you.  To 
carry  it  out  as  you  once  explained  it  to  me  would  be 
indeed  success.  If  I  remember  rightly,'  he  added, 
•  it  was  a — er — a  Scheme  for  Disabled ' 

Rogers  interrupted  him  quickly.  '  And  I  am  full 
of  the  same  big  dream  still,'  he  repeated  almost  shyly. 
'  The  money  I  have  made  I  regard  as  lent  to  me  for 
investment.  I  wish  to  use  it,  to  give  it  away  as  one 
gives  flowers.     I  feel  sure ' 

He  stopped  abruptly,  caught  by  the  glow  of 
enthusiasm  that  had  leaped  into  the  other's  face  with 
a  strangely  beautiful  expression. 

'  You  never  did  anything  by  halves,  I  remember,' 
the  Vicar  said,  looking  at  him  proudly.      '  You  were 


56  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap, 

always  in  earnest,  even  in  your  play,  and  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  that  I've  often  prayed  for  some- 
thing of  that  zeal  of  yours — that  zeal  for  others.  It's 
a  remarkable  gift.  You  will  never  bury  it,  will  you  ? ' 
He  spoke  eagerly,  passionately,  leaning  forward  a  little 
across  the  table.  '  Few  have  it  nowadays  ;  it  grows 
rarer  with  the  luxury  and  self-seeking  of  the  age. 
It  struck  me  so  in  you  as  a  boy,  that  even  your 
sprites  worked  not  for  themselves  but  for  others — 
your  Dustman,  your  Sweep,  your  absurd  Lamplighter, 
all  were  busy  doing  wonderful  things  to  help  their 
neighbours,  all,  too,  without  reward.' 

Rogers  flushed  like  a  boy.  But  he  felt  the  thrill 
of  his  dream  course  through  him  like  great  fires. 
Wherein  was  any  single  thing  in  the  world  worth 
doing,  any  object  of  life  worth  following,  unless  as 
means  to  an  end,  and  that  end  helping  some  one  else. 
One's  own  little  personal  dreams  became  exhausted 
in  a  few  years,  endeavours  for  self  smothered  beneath 
the  rain  of  disappointments  ;  but  others,  and  work 
for  others,  this  was  endless  and  inexhaustible. 

1  I've  sometimes  thought,'  he  heard  the  older  man 
going  on,  *  that  in  the  dusk  I  saw ' — his  voice 
lowered  and  he  glanced  towards  the  windows  where 
the  rose  trees  stood  like  little  figures,  cloaked  and 
bonneted  with  beauty  beneath  the  stars — '  that  I  saw 
your  Dustman  scattering  his  golden  powder  as  he 
came  softly  up  the  path,  and  that  some  of  it  reached 
my  own  eyes,  too  ;  or  that  your  swift  Lamplighter 
lent  me  a  moment  his  gold-tipped  rod  of  office  so 
that  I  might  light  fires  of  hope  in  suffering  hearts  here 
in  this  tiny  world  of  my  own  parish.  Your  dreadful 
Head  Gardener,  too  !  And  your  Song  of  the  Blue- 
Eyes  Fairy,'  he  added  slyly,  almost  mischievously, 
'  you  remember  that,  I  wonder  ?  ' 


v  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  57 

1  H'm — a  little,  yes — something,'  replied  Rogers 
confusedly.  f  It  was  a  dreadful  doggerel.  But  I've 
got  a  secretary  now,'  he  continued  hurriedly  and  in 
rather  a  louder  voice, '  a  fellow  named  Minks,  a  jewel 
really  of  a  secretary  he  is — and  he,  I  believe,  can 
write  real ' 

'  It  was  charming  enough  for  us  all  to  have 
remembered  it,  anyhow,'  the  Vicar  stopped  him, 
smiling  at  his  blushes,  '  and  for  May — or  was  it  Joan  ? 
dear  me,  how  I  do  forget  names  ! — to  have  set  it  to 
music.  She  had  a  little  gift  that  way,  you  may 
remember  ;  and,  before  she  took  up  teaching  she 
wrote  one  or  two  little  things  like  that.' 

'  Ah,  did  she  really  ? '  murmured  the  other.  He 
scarcely  knew  what  he  was  saying,  for  a  mist  of  blue 
had  risen  before  his  eyes,  and  in  it  he  was  seeing 
pictures.  '  The  Spell  of  Blue,  wasn't  it,  or  something 
like  that  ? '  he  said  a  moment  later,  '  blue,  the  colour 
of  beauty  in  flowers,  sea,  sky,  distance — the  childhood 
colour  par  excellence  ?  ' 

'  But  chiefly  in  the  eyes  of  children,  yes,'  the 
Vicar  helped  him,  rising  at  the  same  time  from  the 
table.  '  It  was  the  spell,  the  passport,  the  open 
sesame  to  most  of  your  adventures.  Come  now,  if 
you  won't  have  another  glass  of  port,  and  we'll  go 
into  the  drawing-room,  and  Joan,  May  I  mean — no, 
Joan,  of  course,  shall  sing  it  to  you.  For  this  is  a 
very  special  occasion  for  us,  you  know,'  he  added  as 
they  passed  across  the  threshold  side  by  side.  *  To 
see  you  is  to  go  back  with  you  to  Fairyland.' 

The  piano  was  being  idly  strummed  as  they  went 
in,  and  the  player  was  easily  persuaded  to  sing  the 
little  song.  It  floated  through  the  open  windows 
and  across  the  lawn  as  the  two  men  in  their  corners 
listened.     She  knew  it  by  heart,  as  though  she  often 


5 8  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

played  it.  The  candles  were  not  lit.  Dusk  caught 
the  sound  and  muted  it  enchantingly.  And  some- 
how the  simple  melody  helped  to  conceal  the  meagre- 
ness  of  the  childish  words.  Everywhere,  from  sky 
and  lawn  and  solemn  trees,  the  Past  came  softly  in 
and  listened  too. 

There's  a  Fairy  that  hides  in  the  beautiful  eyes 

Of  children  who  treat  her  well  ; 
In  the  little  round  hole  where  the  eyeball  lies 

She  weaves  her  magical  spell. 

Oh,  tell  it  to  me, 

Oh,  how  can  it  be, 

This  Spell  of  the  Blue-Eyes  Fairy. 

Well, — the  eyes  must  be  blue, 

And  the  heart  must  be  true, 

And  the  child  must  be  better  than  gold  ; 

And  then,  if  you'll  let  her, 

The  quicker  the  better, 

She'll  make  you  forget  that  you're  old, 

That  you're  heavy  and  stupid,  and — old  ! 

So,  if  such  a  child  you  should  chance  to  see, 

Or  with  such  a  child  to  play, 
No  matter  how  weary  and  dull  you  be, 

Nor  how  many  tons  you  weigh  ; 
You  will  suddenly  find  that  you're  young  again, 

And  your  movements  are  light  and  airy, 
And  you'll  try  to  be  solemn  and  stiff  in  vain — 

It's  the  Spell  of  the  Blue- Eyes  Fairy  ! 

Now  I've  told  it  to  you, 

And  you  know  it  is  true — 

It's  the  Spell  of  the  Blue-Eyes  Fairy  ! 

*  And  it's  the  same  spell,'  said  the  old  man  in  his 
corner  as  the  last  notes  died  away,  and  they  sat  on 
some  minutes  longer  in  the  fragrant  darkness,  '  that 
you  cast  about  us  as  a  boy,  Henry  Rogers,  when  you 


v  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  59 

made  that  wonderful  Net  of  Stars  and  fastened  it 
with  your  comets'  nails  to  the  big  and  little  cedars. 
The  one  catches  your  heart,  you  see,  while  the  other 
gets  your  feet  and  head  and  arms  till  you're  a  hopeless 
prisoner — a  prisoner  in  Fairyland.' 

'  Only  the  world  to-day  no  longer  believes  in 
Fairyland,'  was  the  reply,  '  and  even  the  children 
have  become  scientific.  Perhaps  it's  only  buried 
though.  The  two  ought  to  run  in  harness  really — 
opposite  interpretations  of  the  universe.  One  might 
revive  it — here  and  there  perhaps.  Without  it,  all 
the  tenderness  seems  leaking  out  of  life ' 

Joan  presently  said  good-night,  but  the  other  two 
waited  on  a  little  longer  ;  and  before  going  to  bed 
they  took  a  turn  outside  among  the  flower-beds  and 
fruit-trees  that  formed  the  tangled  Vicarage  garden 
at  the  back.  It  was  uncommonly  warm  for  a  night 
in  early  spring.  The  lilacs  were  in  bud,  and  the  air 
most  exquisitely  scented. 

Rogers  felt  himself  swept  back  wonderfully  among 
his  early  years.  It  seemed  almost  naughty  to  be  out 
at  such  an  hour  instead  of  asleep  in  bed.  It  was  quite 
ridiculous — but  he  loved  the  feeling  and  let  himself  go 
with  happy  willingness.  The  story  of  '  Vice  Versa,' 
where  a  man  really  became  a  boy  again,  passed  through 
his  mind  and  made  him  laugh. 

And  the  old  Vicar  kept  on  feeding  the  semi-serious 
mood  with  what  seemed  almost  intentional  sly  digs. 
Yet  the  digs  were  not  intentional,  really  ;  it  was 
merely  that  his  listener,  already  prepared  by  his 
experience  with  the  Starlight  Express,  read  into  them 
these  searching  meanings  of  his  own.  Something  in 
him  was  deeply  moved. 

1  You  might  make  a  great  teacher,  you  know,' 
suggested   his   companion,   stooping   to  sniff  a  lilac 


6o  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND 


CHAP. 


branch  as  they  paused  a  moment.  '  I  thought  so 
years  ago  ;  I  think  so  still.  You've  kept  yourself  so 
simple.' 

'  How  not  to  do  most  things,'  laughed  the  other, 
glad  of  the  darkness. 

'  How  to  do  the  big  and  simple  things,'  was  the 
rejoinder  ;  '  and  do  them  well,  without  applause. 
You  have  Belief.' 

*  Too  much,  perhaps.     I  simply  can't  get  rid  of  it.' 
'  Don't  try  to.     It's  belief  that  moves  the  world  ; 

people  want  teachers — that's  my  experience  in  the 
pulpit  and  the  parish,  a  world  in  miniature,  after  all 
— but  they  won't  listen  to  a  teacher  who  hasn't  got 
it.  There  are  no  great  poets  to-day,  only  great 
discoverers.  The  poets,  the  interpreters  of  discovery, 
are  gone — starved  out  of  life  by  ridicule,  and  by 
questions  to  which  exact  answers  are  impossible. 
With  your  imagination  and  belief  you  might  help 
a  world  far  larger  than  this  parish  of  mine  at  any 
rate.     I  envy  you.' 

Goodness  !  how  the  kind  eyes  searched  his  own 
in  this  darkness.  Though  little  susceptible  to  flattery, 
he  was  aware  of  something  huge  the  words  stirred  in 
the  depths  of  him,  something  far  bigger  than  he  yet 
had  dreamed  of  even  in  his  boyhood,  something  that 
made  his  cherished  Scheme  seem  a  little  pale  and 
faded. 

*  Take  the  whole  world  with  you  into  fairyland,' 
he  heard  the  low  voice  come  murmuring  in  his  ear 
across  the  lilacs.  And  there  was  starlight  in  it — that 
gentle,  steady  brilliance  that  steals  into  people  while 
they  sleep  and  dream,  tracing  patterns  of  glory  they 
may  recognise  when  they  wake,  yet  marvelling  whence 
it  came.  '  The  world  wants  its  fairyland  back  again, 
and  won't  be  happy  till  it  gets  it.' 


A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  61 

A  bird  listening  to  them  in  the  stillness  sang  a 
little  burst  of  song,  then  paused  again  to  listen. 

'  Once  give  them  of  your  magic,  and  each  may 
shape  his  fairyland  as  he  chooses  .  .  .'  the  musical 
voice  ran  on. 

The  flowers  seemed  alive  and  walking.  This  was 
a  voice  of  beauty.  Some  lilac  bud  was  singing  in  its 
sleep.  Sirius  had  dropped  a  ray  across  its  lips  of 
blue  and  coaxed  it  out  to  dance.  There  was  a 
murmur  and  a  stir  among  the  fruit-trees  too.  The 
apple  blossoms  painted  the  darkness  with  their  tiny 
fluttering  dresses,  while  old  Aldebaran  trimmed  them 
silently  with  gold,  and  partners  from  the  Milky  Way 
swept  rustling  down  to  lead  the  violets  out.  Oh, 
there  was  revelry  to-night,  and  the  fairy  spell  of  the 
blue-eyed  Spring  was  irresistible.   .   .   . 

'But  the  world  will  never  dance,'  he  whispered 
sadly,  half  to  himself  perhaps  ;   '  it's  far  too  weary.' 

'  It  will  follow  a  leader,'  came  the  soft  reply, 
'  who  dances  well  and  pipes  the  true  old  music  so 
that  it  can  hear.  Belief  inspires  it  always.  And 
that  Belief  you  have.'  There  was  a  curious  vibra- 
tion in  his  voice  ;  he  spoke  from  his  heart,  and  his 
heart  was  evidently  moved. 

'  I  wonder  when  it  came  to  me,  then,  and  how  ?  ' 

The  Vicar  turned  and  faced  him  where  they 
stood  beneath  the  lime  trees.  Their  scent  was 
pouring  out  as  from  phials  uncorked  by  the  stars. 

'  It  came,'  he  caught  the  answer  that  thrilled  with 
earnestness,  '  when  you  saw  the  lame  boy  on  the 
village  hill  and  cried.     As  long  ago  as  that  it  came.' 

His  mind,  as  he  listened,  became  a  plot  of  fresh- 
turned  earth  the  Head  Gardener  filled  with  flowers. 
A  mass  of  covering  stuff  the  years  had  laid  ever 
thicker  and  thicker  was  being  shovelled  away.     The 


62  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

flowers  he  saw  being  planted  there  were  very  tiny 
ones.  But  they  would  grow.  A  leaf  from  some  far- 
off  rocky  mount  of  olive  trees  dropped  fluttering 
through  the  air  and  marvellously  took  root  and 
grew.  He  felt  for  a  moment  the  breath  of  night 
air  that  has  been  tamed  by  an  eastern  sun.  He  saw 
a  group  of  men,  bare-headed,  standing  on  the  slopes, 
and  in  front  of  them  a  figure  of  glory  teaching  little, 
simple  things  they  found  it  hard  to  understand.   .   .   . 

'  You  have  the  big  and  simple  things  alive  in 
you,'  the  voice  carried  on  his  pictured  thought 
among  the  flowers.  '  In  your  heart  they  lie  all 
waiting  to  be  used.  Nothing  can  smother  them. 
Only — you  must  give  them  out.' 

*  If  only  I  knew  how ! ' 

'  Keep  close  to  the  children,'  sifted  the  strange 
answer  through  the  fruit-trees  ;  '  the  world  is  a  big 
child.  And  catch  it  when  it  lies  asleep — not  thinking 
of  itself,'  he  whispered. 

'  The  time  is  so  short ' 

'  At  forty  you  stand  upon  the  threshold  of  life, 
with  values  learned  and  rubbish  cleared  away.  So 
many  by  that  time  are  already  dead — in  heart.  I 
envy  your  opportunities  ahead.  You  have  learned 
already  one  foundation  truth — the  grandeur  of  toil 
and  the  insignificance  of  acquisition.  The  other 
foundation  thing  is  even  simpler — you  have  a  neigh- 
bour. Now,  with  your  money  to  give  as  flowers, 
and  your  Belief  to  steer  you  straight,  you  have  the 
world  before  you.     And — keep  close  to  the  children.' 

'Before  there  are  none  left,'  added  Rogers  under 
his  breath.  But  the  other  heard  the  words  and 
instantly  corrected  him — 

'  Children  of  any  age,  and  wherever  you  may  find 
them.' 


v  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  63 

And  they  turned  slowly  and  made  their  way  in 
silence  across  the  soaking  lawn,  entering  the  house 
by  the  drawing-room  window. 

'  Good-night,'  the  old  man  said,  as  he  lit  his 
candle  and  led  him  to  his  room  ;  '  and  pleasant, 
happy,  inspiring  dreams.' 

He  seemed  to  say  it  with  some  curious,  heartfelt 
meaning  in  the  common  words.  He  disappeared 
slowly  down  the  passage,  shading  the  candle  with 
one  hand  to  pick  his  way,  and  Rogers  watched  him 
out  of  sight,  then  turned  and  entered  his  own  room, 
closing  the  door  as  softly  as  possible  behind  him. 

It  had  been  an  astonishing  conversation.  All  his 
old  enthusiasm  was  stirred.  Embers  leaped  to  flame. 
No  woman  ever  had  done  as  much.  This  old  fellow, 
once  merely  respected  tutor,  had  given  him  back  his 
first  original  fire  and  zeal,  yet  somehow  cleansed  and 
purified.  And  it  humbled  him  at  the  same  time. 
Dead  leaves,  dropped  year  by  year  in  his  City  life, 
were  cleared  away  as  though  a  mighty  wind  had 
swept  him.  The  Gardener  was  burning  up  dead 
leaves  ;  the  Sweep  was  cleaning  out  the  flues  ;  the 
Lamplighter  waving  his  golden  signal  in  the  sky — 
far  ahead,  it  is  true,  but  gleaming  like  a  torch  and 
beacon.  The  Starlight  Express  was  travelling  at  top 
speed  among  the  constellations.  He  stood  at  the 
beginning  of  the  important  part  of  life.   .  .   . 

And  now,  as  he  lay  in  bed  and  heard  the  owls 
hooting  in  the  woods,  and  smelt  the  flowers  through 
the  open  window,  his  thoughts  followed  strongly 
after  that  old  Star  Train  that  he  used  to  drive  about 
the  sky.  He  was  both  engine-driver  and;  passenger. 
He  fell  asleep  to  dream  of  it. 

And  all  the  vital  and  enchanting  thoughts  of  his 


64  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

boyhood  flowed  back  upon  him  with  a  rush,  as 
though  they  had  never  been  laid  aside.  He  remem- 
bered particularly  one  singular  thing  about  them — 
that  they  had  never  seemed  quite  his  own,  but  that 
he  had  either  read  or  heard  them  somewhere  else. 
As  a  child  the  feeling  was  always  strong  that  these 
'jolly  thoughts,'  as  he  called  them,  were  put  into 
him  by  some  one  else — some  one  who  whispered  to 
him  —  some  one  who  lived  close  behind  his  ears. 
He  had  to  listen  very  hard  to  catch  them.  It  was 
not  dreams,  yet  all  night  long,  especially  when  he 
slept  tightly,  as  he  phrased  it,  this  fairy  whispering 
continued,  and  in  the  daytime  he  remembered  what 
he  could  and  made  up  his  stories  accordingly.  He 
stole  these  ideas  about  a  Star  Net  and  a  Starlight 
Express.  One  day  he  would  be  caught  and  punished 
for  it.  It  was  trespassing  upon  the  preserves  of 
some  one  else. 

Yet  he  could  never  discover  who  this  some  one 
else  was,  except  that  it  was  a  '  she  '  and  lived  among 
the  stars,  only  coming  out  at  night.  He  imagined 
she  hid  behind  that  little  dusty  constellation  called 
the  Pleiades,  and  that  was  why  the  Pleiades  wore  a 
veil  and  were  so  dim — lest  he  should  find  her  out. 
And  once,  behind  the  blue  gaze  of  the  guard-girl, 
who  was  out  of  his  heart  by  this  time,  he  had  known 
a  moment  of  thrilling  wonder  that  was  close  to  awe. 
He  saw  another  pair  of  eyes  gazing  out  at  him 
They  were  ambery  eyes,  as  he  called  them — just 
what  was  to  be  expected  from  a  star.  And,  so  great 
was  the  shock,  that  at  first  he  stood  dead  still  and 
gasped,  then  dashed  up  suddenly  close  to  her  and 
stared  into  her  face,  frightening  her  so  much  that 
she  fell  backwards,  and  the  amber  eyes  vanished 
instantly.     It  was  the  c  some  one  else  '  who  whispered 


v  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  6$ 

fairy  stories  to  him  and  lived  behind  his  ear.  For  a 
second  she  had  been  marvellously  close.  And  he 
had  lost  her  ! 

From  that  moment,  however,  his  belief  in  her 
increased  enormously,  and  he  never  saw  a  pair  of 
brown-ambery  eyes  without  feeling  sure  that  she  was 
somewhere  close  about  him.  The  lame  boy,  for 
instance,  had  the  same  delicate  tint  in  his  sad,  long, 
questioning  gaze.  His  own  collie  had  it  too  !  For 
years  it  was  an  obsession  with  him,  haunting  and 
wonderful  —  the  knowledge  that  some  one  who 
watched  close  beside  him,  filling  his  mind  with 
fairy  thoughts,  might  any  moment  gaze  into  his 
face  through  a  pair  of  ordinary  familiar  eyes.  And 
he  was  certain  that  all  his  star-imagination  about  the 
Net,  the  Starlight  Express,  and  the  Cave  of  Lost 
Starlight  came  first  into  him  from  this  hidden  '  some 
one  else '  who  brought  the  Milky  Way  down  into 
his  boy's  world  of  fantasy. 

1  If  ever  I  meet  her  in  real  life,'  he  used  to  say, 
'  I'm  done  for.     She  is  my  Star  Princess  !  ' 

And  now,  as  he  fell  asleep,  the  old  atmosphere  of 
that  Kentish  garden  drew  thickly  over  him,  shaking 
out  clusters  of  stars  about  his  bed.  Dreams  usually 
are  determined  by  something  more  remote  than 
the  talk  that  has  just  preceded  going  to  bed,  but 
to-night  it  was  otherwise.  And  two  things  the  old 
Vicar  had  let  fall — two  things  sufficiently  singular, 
it  seemed,  when  he  came  to  think  about  them — 
influenced  his  night  adventures.  '  Catch  the  world 
when  it's  asleep,'  and  '  Keep  close  to  the  children  ' — 
these  somehow  indicated  the  route  his  dream  should 
follow.  For  he  headed  the  great  engine  straight  for 
the  village  in  the  Jura  pine  woods  where  his  cousin's 
children   lived.     He   did   not   know  these   children, 

F 


66         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       ch.v 

and  had  seen  his  cousin  but  rarely  in  recent  years  ; 
yet,  it  seemed,  they  came  to  meet  the  train  up 
among  the  mountain  forests  somewhere.  For  in 
this  village,  where  he  had  gone  to  study  French, 
the  moods  of  his  own  childhood  had  somehow  known 
continuation  and  development.  The  place  had  once 
been  very  dear  to  him,  and  he  had  known  delightful 
adventures  there,  many  of  them  with  this  cousin. 
Now  he  took  all  his  own  childhood's  sprites  out  in 
this  Starlight  Express  and  introduced  them  to  these 
transplanted  children  who  had  never  made  acquaint- 
ance with  the  English  breed.  They  had  surprising, 
wild  adventures  all  together,  yet  in  the  morning  he 
could  remember  very  little  of  it  all.  The  interfering 
sun  melted  them  all  down  in  dew.  The  adventures 
had  some  object,  however  ;  that  was  clear  ;  though 
what  the  object  was,  except  that  it  did  good  some- 
where to  some  one,  was  gone,  lost  in  the  deeps  of 
sleep  behind  him.  They  scurried  about  the  world. 
The  sprites  were  very  active  indeed — quite  fussily 
energetic.  And  his  Scheme  for  Disabled  Something- 
orother  was  not  anywhere  discoverable  in  these 
escapades.  That  seemed  forgotten  rather,  as  though 
they  found  bigger,  more  important  things  to  do,  and 
nearer  home  too.  Perhaps  the  Vicar's  hint  about  the 
'  Neighbour  '  was  responsible  for  that.  Anyhow, 
the  dream  was  very  vivid,  even  though  the  morning 
sun  melted  it  away  so  quickly  and  completely.  It 
seemed  continuous  too.     It  filled  the  entire  night. 

Yet  the  thing  that  Rogers  took  off  with  him  to 
town  next  morning  was,  more  than  any  other  detail, 
the  memory  of  what  the  old  tutor  had  said  about 
the  living  reality  and  persistence  of  figures  that 
passionate  thinking  has  created — that,  and  the  value 
of  Belief. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Be  thou  my  star,  and  thou  in  me  be  seen 
To  show  what  source  divine  is,  and  prevails. 
I  mark  thee  planting  joy  in  constant  fire. 

To  Sirius,  G.  Meredith. 

And  he  rather  astonished  the  imperturbable  Minks 
next  day  by  the  announcement  that  he  was  thinking 
of  going  abroad  for  a  little  holiday.  '  When  I 
return,  it  will  be  time  enough  to  take  up  the 
Scheme  in  earnest,'  he  said.  For  Minks  had  brought 
a  sheaf  of  notes  embodying  the  results  of  many 
hours'  labour,  showing  what  others  had  already  done 
in  that  particular  line  of  philanthropy. 

'  Very  good  indeed,  Minks,  very  good.  I'll  take 
'em  with  me  and  make  a  careful  study  of  the  lot.  I 
shall  be  only  gone  a  week  or  so,'  he  added,  noticing 
the  other's  disappointment.  For  the  secretary  had 
hoped  to  expound  these  notes  himself  at  length. 
'  Take  a  week's  holiday  yourself,'  he  added.  '  Mrs. 
Minks  might  like  to  get  to  the  sea,  perhaps. 
There'll  only  be  my  letters  to  forward.  I'll  give 
you  a  little  cheque.'  And  he  explained  briefly  that 
he  was  going  out  to  Bourcelles  to  enjoy  a  few  days' 
rest  before  they  attacked  great  problems  together. 
After  so  many  years  of  application  to  business  he 
had  earned  it.  Crayfield,  it  seemed,  had  given  him 
a  taste  for  sentimental  journeys.     But  the  fact  was, 

67 


68  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

too,  the  Tramp,  the  Dustman,  the  Lamplighter,  and 
the  Starlight  Express  were  all  in  his  thoughts  still. 

And  it  was  spring.  He  felt  this  sudden  desire  to 
see  his  cousin  again,  and  make  the  acquaintance  of 
his  cousin's  children.  He  remembered  how  the  two 
of  them  had  tramped  the  Jura  forests  as  boys.  They 
had  met  in  London  at  intervals  since.  He  dictated 
a  letter  to  him  then  and  there — Minks  taking  it 
down  like  lightning — and  added  a  postscript  in  his 
own  handwriting  : — 

*  I  feel  a  longing,'  he  wrote,  *  to  come  out  and 
see  the  little  haven  of  rest  you  have  chosen,  and  to 
know  your  children.  Our  ways  have  gone  very  far 
apart — too  far — since  the  old  days  when  we  climbed 
out  of  the  windows  of  la  cure  with  a  sheet,  and 
tramped  the  mountains  all  night  long.  Do  you 
remember  ?  I've  had  my  nose  on  the  grindstone 
ever  since,  and  you've  worked  hard  too,  judging  by 
your  name  in  publishers'  lists.  I  hope  your  books 
are  a  great  success.  I'm  ashamed  I've  never  any 
time  to  read  now.  But  I'm  "retired"  from  business 
at  last  and  hope  to  do  great  things.  I'll  tell  you 
about  a  great  Scheme  I  have  in  hand  when  we  meet. 
I  should  like  your  advice  too. 

'  Any  room  will  do — sunny  aspect  if  possible. 
And  please  give  my  love  to  your  children  in 
advance.  Tell  them  I  shall  come  out  in  the  Star- 
light Express.  Let  me  have  a  line  to  say  if  it's  all 
right.' 

In  due  course  the  line — a  warm-hearted  one — 
arrived.  Minks  came  to  Charing  Cross  to  see  him 
off*,  the  gleam  of  the  sea  already  in  his  pale-blue 
eyes. 


vi  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  69 

*  The  Weather  Report  says  "  calm,"  Mr.  Rogers,' 
he  kept  repeating.  •  You'll  have  a  good  crossing,  I 
hope  and  trust.  I'm  taking  Mrs.  Minks  my- 
self  ' 

'  Yes,  yes,  that's  good,'  was  the  quick  reply. 
*  Capital.  And — let  me  see — I've  got  your  notes 
with  me,  haven't  I?  I'll  draft  out  a  general  plan 
and  send  it  to  you  as  soon  as  I  get  a  moment.  You 
think  over  it  too,  will  you,  while  I'm  away.  And 
enjoy  yourself  at  the  same  time.  Put  your  children 
in  the  sea — nothing  like  the  sea  for  children — sea 
and  sun  and  sand  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.' 

'  Thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Rogers,  and  I 
trust ' 

Somebody  bumped  against  him,  cutting  short  a 
carefully  balanced  sentence  that  was  intended  to  be 
one-third  good  wishes,  one-third  weather  remark, 
and  the  last  third  Mrs.  Minks.  Her  letter  of 
thanks  had  never  been  referred  to.  It  rankled, 
though  very  slightly. 

'What  an  absurd -looking  person!'  exclaimed 
the  secretary  to  himself,  following  the  aggressor  with 
one  eye,  and  trying  to  recapture  the  lost  sentence  at 
the  same  time.  '  They  really  should  not  allow  such 
people  in  a  railway  terminus,'  he  added  aloud.  The 
man  was  ragged  and  unkempt  to  the  last  degree — a 
sort  of  tramp  ;  and  as  he  bought  a  ticket  at  the 
third-class  wicket,  just  beyond,  he  kept  looking  up 
slyly  at  Minks  and  his  companion.  '  The  way  he 
knocked  against  me  almost  seemed  intentional,' 
Minks  thought.  The  idea  of  pickpockets  and 
cleverly  disguised  detectives  ran  confusedly  in  his 
mind.     He  felt  a  little  flustered  for  some  reason. 

'  I  beg  your  pardon,'  Mr.  Rogers  was  saying  to  a 
man  who  tried  to  push  in  front  of  him.     *  But  we 


70         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      cha? 

must  each  take  our  turn,  you  know.'  The  throng 
of  people  was  considerable.  This  man  looked  like  a 
dustman.  He,  too,  was  eagerly  buying  a  ticket,  but 
had  evidently  mistaken  the  window.  '  Third-class 
is  lower  down  I  think,'  Mr.  Rogers  suggested  with 
a  touch  of  authority. 

*  What  a  lot  of  foreigners  there  are  about,'  re- 
marked Minks.  '  These  stations  are  full  of  suspicious 
characters.'  The  notice  about  loitering  flashed 
across  him. 

He  took  the  ticket  Mr.  Rogers  handed  to  him, 
and  went  off  to  register  the  luggage,  and  when  later 
he  joined  his  chief  at  the  carriage  door  he  saw  him 
talking  to  a  couple  of  strangers  who  seemed  anxious 
to  get  in. 

'  I  took  this  corner  seat  for  you,  Mr.  Rogers,'  he 
explained,  both  to  prove  his  careful  forethought  and 
to  let  the  strangers  know  that  his  master  was  a  person 
of  some  importance.  They  were  such  an  extra- 
ordinary couple  too  !  Had  there  been  hop-pickers 
about  he  could  have  understood  it.  They  were 
almost  figures  of  masquerade  ;  for  while  one  re- 
sembled more  than  anything  else  a  chimney-sweep 
who  had  forgotten  to  wash  his  face  below  the  level 
of  the  eyes,  the  other  carried  a  dirty  sack  across  his 
shoulders,  which  apparently  he  had  just  been  trying 
to  squeeze  into  the  rack. 

They  moved  off  when  they  saw  Minks,  but  the 
man  with  the  sack  made  a  gesture  with  one  hand,  as 
though  he  scattered  something  into  the  carriage 
through  the  open  door. 

The  secretary  threw  a  reproachful  look  at  a 
passing  guard,  but  there  was  nothing  he  could  do. 
People  with  tickets  had  a  right  to  travel.  Still,  he 
resented  these  crowding,  pushing  folk.     '  I'm  sorry, 


vi  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  71 

Mr.  Rogers,'  he  said,  as  though  he  had  chosen  a 
poor  train  for  his  honoured  chief ;  '  there  must  be  an 
excursion  somewhere.  There's  a  big  fe~te  of  Vege- 
tarians, I  know,  at  Surbiton  to-day,  but  I  can  hardly 
think  these  people ' 

'  Don't  wait,  Minks,'  said  the  other,  who  had 
taken  his  seat.  '  I'll  let  you  hear  from  me,  you 
know,  about  the  Scheme  and — other  things.  Don't 
wait.'  He  seemed  curiously  unobservant  of  these 
strange  folk,  almost  absent-minded. 

The  guard  was  whistling.  Minks  shut  the  door 
and  gave  the  travelling-rug  a  last  tuck-in  about  his 
feet.  He  felt  as  though  he  were  packing  off  a  child. 
The  mother  in  him  became  active.  Mr.  Rogers 
needed  looking  after.  Another  minute  and  he 
would  have  patted  him  and  told  him  what  to  eat 
and  wear.  But  instead  he  raised  his  hat  and  smiled. 
The  train  moved  slowly  out,  making  a  deep  purring 
sound  like  flowing  water.  The  platform  had 
magically  thinned.  Officials  stood  lonely  among  the 
scattered  wavers  of  hats  and  handkerchiefs.  As  he 
stepped  backwards  to  keep  the  carriage  window  in 
sight  until  the  last  possible  moment,  Minks  was 
nearly  knocked  over  by  a  man  who  hurried  along 
the  platform  as  if  he  still  had  hopes  of  catching  the 
train. 

1  Really,  sir  ! '  gasped  the  secretary,  stooping  to 
pick  up  his  newspaper  and  lavender  glove — he  wore 
one  glove  and  carried  the  other — the  collision  had  sent 
flying.  But  the  man  was  already  far  beyond  the  reach 
of  his  voice.  '  He  must  be  an  escaped  lamplighter, 
or  something,'  he  laughed  good-naturedly,  as  he  saw 
the  long  legs  vanish  down  the  platform.  He  leaped 
on  to  the  line.  Evidently  he  was  a  railway  employe. 
He  seemed  to  be  vainly  trying  to  catch  the  departing 


72  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

buffers.  An  absurd  and  reckless  fellow,  thought 
Minks. 

But  what  caught  the  secretary's  attention  last, 
and  made  him  wonder  a  little  if  anything  unusual 
was  happening  to  the  world,  was  the  curious  fact 
that,  as  the  last  carriage  glided  smoothly  past,  he 
recognised  four  figures  seated  comfortably  inside. 
Their  feet  were  on  the  cushions  —  disgracefully. 
They  were  talking  together,  heads  forward,  laughing, 
even — singing.  And  he  could  have  sworn  that  they 
were  the  two  men  who  had  watched  himself  and  Mr. 
Rogers  at  the  ticket  window,  and  the  strangers  who 
had  tried  to  force  their  way  into  Mr.  Rogers's  carriage 
when  he  came  up  just  in  time  to  interfere. 

'  They  got  in  somehow  after  all,  then,'  he  said  to 
himself.  '  Of  course,  I  had  forgotten.  The  Com- 
pany runs  third-class  carriages  on  the  continental 
trains  now.     Odd  ! '     He  mentally  rubbed  his  eyes. 

The  train  swept  round  the  corner  out  of  sight, 
leaving  a  streaming  cloud  of  smoke  and  sparks 
behind  it.  It  went  out  with  a  kind  of  rush  of 
delight,  glad  to  be  off,  and  conscious  of  its  passengers' 
pleasure. 

1  Odd.'  This  was  the  word  that  filled  his  mind 
as  he  walked  home.  '  Perhaps — our  minds  are  in 
such  intimate  sympathy  together — perhaps  he  was 
thinking  of — of  that  kind  of  thing — er — and  some 
of  his  thoughts  got  into  my  own  imagination.  Odd, 
though,  very,  very  odd.' 

He  had  once  read  somewhere  in  one  of  his  new- 
fangled books  that  '  thoughts  are  things.'  It  had 
made  a  great  impression  on  him.  He  had  read  about 
Marconi  too.  Later  he  made  a  more  thorough  study 
of  this  'thinking  business.' 

And  soon  afterwards,  having  put  his  chief's  papers 


vi  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  73 

in  order  at  the  flat,  he  went  home  to  Mrs.  Minks  and 
the  children  with  this  other  thought — that  he  had 
possibly  been  overworking  himself,  and  that  it  was  a 
good  thing  he  was  going  to  have  a  holiday  by  the 
sea. 

He  liked  to  picture  himself  as  an  original  thinker, 
not  afraid  of  new  ideas,  but  in  reality  he  preferred 
his  world  sober,  ordinary,  logical.  It  was  merely 
big-sounding  names  he  liked.  And  this  little  in- 
cident was  somewhere  out  of  joint.     It  was — odd. 

Success  that  poisons  many  a  baser  mind 
May  lift 

But  the  sonnet  had  never  known  completion.  In 
the  space  it  had  occupied  in  his  mind  another  one 
abruptly  sprouted.  The  first  subject  after  all  was 
banal.     A  better  one  had  come  to  him — 

Strong  thoughts  that  rise  in  a  creative  mind 
May  flash  about  the  world,  and  carry  joy 


Then  it  stuck.  He  changed  'may'  to  'shall,' 
but  a  moment  later  decided  that  '  do '  was  better, 
truer  than  either.  After  that  inspiration  failed  him. 
He  retired  gracefully  upon  prose  again. 

'  Odd,'  he  thought,  '  very  odd  !  ' 

And  he  relieved  his  mind  by  writing  a  letter  to  a 
newspaper.  He  did  not  send  it  in  the  end,  for  his 
better  judgment  prevented,  but  he  had  to  do  some- 
thing by  way  of  protest,  and  the  only  alternative  was 
to  tell  his  wife  about  it,  when  she  would  look  half 
puzzled,  half  pained,  and  probably  reply  with  some 
remark  about  the  general  cost  of  living.  So  he 
wrote  the  letter  instead. 

For  Herbert  Minks  regarded  himself  as  a  man 
with  the  larger  view  of  citizenship,  a  critic  of  public 


74  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      ch.yi 

affairs,  and,  in  a  measure,  therefore,  an  item  of  that 
public  opinion  which  moulded  governments.  Hence 
he  had  a  finger,  though  but  a  little  finger,  in  the 
destiny  of  nations  and  in  the  polity — a  grand  word 
that ! — of  national  councils.  He  wrote  frequent 
letters,  thus,  to  the  lesser  weekly  journals  ;  these 
letters  were  sometimes  printed  ;  occasionally — oh, 
joy  ! — they  were  answered  by  others  like  himself, 
who  referred  to  him  as  '  your  esteemed  correspon- 
dent.' As  yet,  however,  his  following  letter  had 
never  got  into  print,  nor  had  he  experienced  the 
importance  of  that  editorial  decision,  appended 
between  square  brackets  :  '  This  correspondence 
must  now  cease ' — so  vital,  that  is,  that  the  editor 
and  the  entire  office  staff  might  change  their  opinions 
unless  it  did  cease. 

Having  drafted  his  letter,  therefore,  and  carried 
it  about  with  him  for  several  hours  in  his  breast- 
pocket, he  finally  decided  not  to  send  it  after  all,  for 
the  explanation  of  his  '  odd  '  experience,  he  well 
knew,  was  hardly  one  that  a  newspaper  office  could 
supply,  or  that  public  correspondence  could  illumin- 
ate. His  better  judgment  always  won  the  day  in 
the  end.     Thinking  was  creative,  after  all. 


CHAPTER   VII 

.  .  .  The  sun, 
Closing  his  benediction, 
Sinks,  and  the  darkening  air 
Thrills  with  a  sense  of  the  triumphing  night- 
Night  with  her  train  of  stars 
And  her  great  gift  of  sleep. 

W.  E.  Henley. 

In  a  southern-facing  room  on  the  first  floor  of  La 
Citadelle  the  English  family  sat  after  tea.  The 
father,  a  spare,  mild-eyed  man,  his  thatch  of  brown 
hair  well  sprinkled  with  grey  above  the  temples, 
was  lighting  his  pipe  for  the  tenth  time — the  tenth 
match,  but  the  same  pipeful  of  tobacco  ;  and  his 
wife,  an  ample,  motherly  woman,  slightly  younger 
than  himself,  was  knitting  on  the  other  side  of  the 
open  fireplace,  in  which  still  glowed  a  mass  of  peat 
ashes.  From  time  to  time  she  stirred  them  with  a 
rickety  pair  of  tongs,  or  with  her  foot  kicked  into 
the  grate  the  matches  he  invariably  threw  short  upon 
the  floor.  But  these  were  adventures  ill-suited  to 
her.  Knitting  was  her  natural  talent.  She  was 
always  knitting. 

By  the  open  window  stood  two  children,  a  boy 
and  a  girl  of  ten  and  twelve  respectively,  gazing  out 
into  the  sunshine.  It  was  the  end  of  April,  and 
though  the  sun  was  already  hot,  there  was  a  sharp- 
ness in  the  air  that  told  of  snow  still  lying  on  the 
mountain  heights  behind  the  village.     Across  vine- 

75 


76  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

yard  slopes  and  patches  of  agricultural  land,  the 
Lake  of  Neuchatel  lay  blue  as  a  southern  sea,  while 
beyond  it,  in  a  line  of  white  that  the  sunset  soon 
would  turn  to  pink  and  gold,  stretched  the  whole 
range  of  Alps,  from  Mont  Blanc  to  where  the  Eiger 
and  the  Weisshorn  signalled  in  the  east.  They  filled 
the  entire  horizon,  already  cloud-like  in  the  haze  of 
coming  summer. 

The  door  into  the  corridor  opened,  and  a  taller 
child  came  in.  A  mass  of  dark  hair,  caught  by  a 
big  red  bow,  tumbled  untidily  down  her  back.  She 
was  sixteen  and  very  earnest,  but  her  eyes,  brown 
like  her  father's,  held  a  curious  puzzled  look,  as 
though  life  still  confused  her  so  much  that  while  she 
did  her  duties  bravely  she  did  not  quite  understand 
why  it  should  be  so. 

'  Excuse  me,  Mother,  shall  I  wash  up  ?  '  she  said 
at  once.  She  always  did  wash  up.  And  '  excuse 
me  '  usually  prefaced  her  questions. 

'  Please,  Jane  Anne,'  said  Mother.  The  entire 
family  called  her  Jane  Anne,  although  her  baptismal 
names  were  rather  fine.  Sometimes  she  answered,  too, 
to  Jinny,  but  when  it  was  a  question  of  household 
duties  it  was  Jane  Anne,  or  even  '  Ria.' 

She  set  about  her  duties  promptly,  though  not 
with  any  special  deftness.  And  first  she  stooped 
and  picked  up  the  last  match  her  father  had  dropped 
upon  the  strip  of  carpet  that  covered  the  linoleum. 

'  Daddy,'  she  said  reprovingly,  '  you  do  make 
such  a  mess.'  She  brushed  tobacco  ashes  from  his 
coat.  Mother,  without  looking  up,  went  on  talking 
to  him  about  the  bills — washing,  school-books,  boots, 
blouses,  oil,  and  peat.  And  as  she  did  so  a  puzzled 
expression  was  visible  in  his  eyes  akin  to  the  expres- 
sion in  Jane  Anne's.     Both  enjoyed  a  similar  mental 


vii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  77 

confusion  sometimes  as  to  words  and  meanings  and 
the  import  of  practical  life  generally. 

1  We  shan't  want  any  more  now,  thank  goodness,' 
he  said  vaguely,  referring  to  the  peat,  though  Mother 
was  already  far  ahead,  wading  among  boots  and  shirts 
and  blouses. 

'  But  if  we  get  a  load  in  now,  you  see,  it's  cheaper,'' 
she  said  with  emphasis  on  every  alternate  word, 
slowing  up  the  pace  to  suit  him. 

*  Mother,  where  did  you  put  the  washing-up 
rag  ? '  came  the  voice  of  Jinny  in  plaintive  accents 
from  the  tiny  kitchen  that  lay  beyond  the  adjoining 
bedroom.  *  I  can't  find  it  anywhere,'  she  added, 
poking  her  head  round  the  door  suddenly. 

'  Pet  lamb,'  was  Mother's  answer,  still  bending 
over  her  knitting — she  was  prodigal  of  terms  like 
this  and  applied  them  indiscriminately,  for  Jane  Anne 
resembled  the  animal  in  question  even  less  than  did 
her  father — '  I  saw  it  last  on  the  geranium  shelf — 
you  know,  where  the  fuchsias  and  the — '  She 
hesitated,  she  was  not  sure  herself.  '  I'll  get  it,  my 
duckie,  for  you,'  she  added,  and  began  to  rise.  She 
was  a  voluminous,  very  stately  woman.  The  opera- 
tion took  time. 

'  Let  me,'  said  Daddy,  drawing  his  mind  with 
difficulty  from  the  peat,  and  rising  too.  They  rose 
together. 

'  It's  all  right,  I've  got  it,'  cried  the  child,  who 
had  disappeared  again.  '  It  was  in  the  sink.  That's 
Jimbo  ;  he  washed  up  yesterday.' 

'  Pas  vrai !  '  piped  a  little  voice  beside  the  open 
window,  overhearing  his  name,  '  because  I  only 
dried.  It  was  Monkey  who  washed  up.'  They 
talked  French  and  English  all  mixed  up  together. 

But  Monkey  was  too  busy  looking  at  the  Alps 


78  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

through  an  old  pair  of  opera-glasses,  relic  of  her 
father's  London  days  that  served  for  telescope,  to 
think  reply  worth  while.  Her  baptismal  names  were 
also  rather  wonderful,  though  neither  of  her  parents 
could  have  supplied  them  without  a  moment's 
reflection  first.  There  was  commotion  by  that 
window  for  a  moment  but  it  soon  subsided  again,  for 
things  that  Jinny  said  never  provoked  dissension,  and 
Jimbo  and  Monkey  just  then  were  busy  with  a 
Magic  Horse  who  had  wings  of  snow,  and  was  making 
fearful  leaps  from  the  peaks  of  the  Dent  du  Midi 
across  the  Blumlisalp  to  the  Jungfrau. 

'  Will  you  please  carry  the  samovar  for  me  ? '  ex- 
claimed Jane  Anne,  addressing  both  her  parents,  as 
though  uncertain  which  of  them  would  help  her. 
*  You  filled  it  so  awfully  full  to-day,  I  can't  lift  it. 
I  advertise  for  help.' 

Her  father  slowly  rose.  '  I'll  do  it,  child,'  he  said 
kindly,  but  with  a  patience,  almost  resignation,  in  his 
tone  suggesting  that  it  was  absurd  to  expect  such  a 
thing  of  him.  '  Then  do  exactly  as  you  think  best,' 
he  let  fall  to  his  wife  as  he  went,  referring  to  the 
chaos  of  expenses  she  had  been  discussing  with  him. 
1  That'll  be  all  right.'  For  his  mind  had  not  yet 
sorted  the  jumble  of  peat,  oil,  boots,  school-books, 
and  the  rest.  '  We  can  manage  that  at  any  rate  ; 
you  see  it's  francs,  not  shillings,'  he  added,  as  Jane 
Anne  pulled  him  by  the  sleeve  towards  the  steaming 
samovar.    He  held  the  strings  of  an  ever  empty  purse. 

'  Daddy,  but  you've  always  got  a  crumb  in  your 
beard,'  she  was  saying,  '  and  it  it  isn't  a  crumb,  it's 
ashes  on  your  coat  or  a  match  on  the  floor.'  She 
brushed  the  crumb  away.  He  gave  her  a  kiss.  And 
between  them  they  nearly  upset  the  old  nickel-plated 
samovar  that  was  a  present   from  a  Tiflis  Armenian 


vii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  79 

to  whom  the  mother  once  taught  English.  They 
looked  round  anxiously  as  though  afraid  of  a 
scolding:  ;  but  Mother  had  not  noticed.  And  she 
was  accustomed  to  the  noise  and  laughter.  The 
scene  then  finished,  as  it  usually  did,  by  the  mother 
washing  up,  Jane  Anne  drying,  and  Daddy  hovering 
to  and  fro  in  the  background  making  remarks  in  his 
beard  about  the  geraniums,  the  China  tea,  the  in- 
digestible new  bread,  the  outrageous  cost  of  the 
necessaries  of  life,  or  the  book  he  was  at  work  on  at 
the  moment. 

He  often  enough  gave  his  uncertain  assistance  in 
the  little  menial  duties  connected  with  the  prepara- 
tion or  removal  of  the  tea-things,  and  had  even  been 
known  to  dry.  Only  washing-up  he  never  did. 
Somehow  his  vocation  rendered  him  immune  from 
that.  He  might  bring  the  peat  in,  fill  the  lamps, 
arrange  and  dust  the  scanty  furniture,  but  washing- 
up  was  not  a  possibility  even.  As  an  author  it  was 
considered  beneath  his  dignity  altogether,  almost 
improper  —  it  would  have  shocked  the  children. 
Mother  could  do  anything  ;  it  was  right  and  natural 
that  she  should — poor  soul  !  But  Daddy's  profession 
set  him  in  an  enclosure  apart,  and  there  were  certain 
things  in  this  servantless  menage  he  could  not  have 
done  without  disgracing  the  entire  family.  Washing- 
up  was  one  ;  carrying  back  the  empty  basket  of 
tea-things  to  the  Pension  was  another.  Daddy  wrote 
books.  As  Jane  Anne  put  it  forcibly  and  finally 
once,  '  Shakespeare  never  washed  up  or  carried  a 
tea-basket  in  the  street !  ' — which  the  others  accepted 
as  a  conclusive  statement  of  authority. 

And,  meantime,  the  two  younger  children,  who 
knew  how  to  amuse  each  other  for  hours  together 
unaided,  had  left  the  Magic  Horse  in  its  stables  for  the 


80         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

night — an  enormous  snow-drift — and  were  sitting 
side  by  side  upon  the  sofa  conning  a  number  of 
Punch  some  English  aunt  had  sent  them.  The  girl 
read  out  the  jokes,  and  her  brother  pointed  with  a 
very  dirty  finger  to  the  pictures.  None  of  the  jokes 
were  seized  by  either,  but  Jimbo  announced  each  one 
with,  '  Oh  !  I  say  !  '  and  their  faces  were  grave  and 
sometimes  awed  ;  and  when  Jimbo  asked,  '  But  what 
does    that  mean  ? '  his   sister   would  answer,  '  Don't 

you  see,  I  suppose  the  cabman  meant '    finishing 

with  some  explanation  very  far  from  truth,  where- 
upon Jimbo,  accepting  it  doubtfully,  said  nothing, 
and  they  turned  another  page  with  keen  anticipation. 
They  never  appealed  for  outside  aid,  but  enjoyed  it 
in  their  own  dark,  mysterious  way.  And,  presently, 
when  the  washing-up  was  finished,  and  the  dusk 
began  to  dim  the  landscape  and  conceal  the  ghostly- 
looking  Alps,  they  retired  to  the  inner  bedroom — 
for  this  was  Saturday  and  there  were  no  school  tasks 
to  be  prepared — and  there,  seated  on  the  big  bed  in 
the  corner,  they  opened  a  book  of  cantiques  used  in 
school,  and  sang  one  hymn  and  song  after  another, 
interrupting  one  another  with  jokes  and  laughter  and 
French  and  English  sentences  oddly  mixed  together. 
Jimbo  sang  the  tune,  and  Monkey  the  alto.  It  was 
by  no  means  unpleasant  to  listen  to.  And,  upon  the 
whole,  it  was  a  very  grave  business  altogether,  graver 
even  than  their  attitude  to  Punch.  Jane  Anne  con- 
sidered it  a  foolish  waste  of  time,  but  she  never 
actually  said  so.  She  smiled  her  grave  smile  and 
went  her  own  puzzled  way  alone. 

Usually  at  this  hour  the  Den  presented  a  very 
different  appearance,  the  children,  with  slates  and 
cahiersy  working  laboriously  round  the  table,  Jane 
Anne   and   mother    knitting   or   mending   furiously, 


vii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  81 

Mere  Riquette,  the  old  cat,  asleep  before  the  fire, 
and  a  general  schoolroom  air  pervading  the  place. 
The  father,  too,  tea  once  finished,  would  depart  for 
the  little  room  he  slept  in  and  used  as  work-place 
over  at  the  carpenter's  house  among  the  vineyards. 
He  kept  his  books  there,  his  rows  of  pipes  and 
towering  little  heap  of  half-filled  match-boxes,  and 
there  he  wrote  his  clever  studies  that  yet  were  un- 
productive of  much  gold  and  brought  him  little 
more  than  pleasant  notices  and  occasional  letters 
from  enthusiastic  strangers.  It  seemed  very  un- 
remunerative  labour  indeed,  and  the  family  had  done 
well  to  migrate  from  Essex  into  Switzerland,  where, 
besides  the  excellent  schools  which  cost  barely  two 
pounds  annually  per  head,  the  children  learned  the 
language  and  enjoyed  the  air  of  forest  and  mountain 
into  the  bargain.  Life,  for  all  that,  was  a  severe 
problem  to  them,  and  the  difficulty  of  making  both 
ends  come  in  sight  of  each  other,  let  alone  meeting, 
was  an  ever-present  one.  That  they  jogged  along 
so  well  was  due  more  than  the  others  realised  to 
the  untiring  and  selfless  zeal  of  the  Irish  mother,  a 
plucky,  practical  woman,  and  a  noble  one  if  ever 
such  existed  on  this  earth.  The  way  she  contrived 
would  fill  a  book  ;  her  economies,  so  clever  they 
hardly  betrayed  themselves,  would  supply  a  comic 
annual  with  material  for  years,  though  their  comedy 
involved  a  pathos  of  self-denial  and  sleepless  nights 
that  only  those  similarly  placed  could  have  divined. 
Herself  a  silent,  even  inarticulate,  woman,  she  never 
spoke  of  them,  least  of  all  to  her  husband,  whose 
mind  it  was  her  brave  desire  to  keep  free  from  un- 
necessary worries  for  his  work.  His  studies  she  did 
not  understand,  but  his  stories  she  read  aloud  with 
patient  resignation  to  the  children.     She  marked  the 

o 


82  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

place  when  the  reading  was  interrupted  with  a  crim- 
son paper-knife,  and  often  Jimbo  would  move  it 
several  pages  farther  on  without  any  of  them  dis- 
covering the  gap.  Jane  Anne,  however,  who  made 
no  pretence  of  listening  to  'Daddy's  muddle-stories,' 
was  beginning  to  realise  what  went  on  in  Mother's 
mind  underground.  She  hardly  seized  the  pathos, 
but  she  saw  and  understood  enough  to  help.  And 
she  was  in  many  ways  a  little  second  edition — a 
phrase  the  muddle-stories  never  knew,  alas  ! — of  her 
mother,  with  the  same  unselfishness  that  held  a  touch 
of  grandeur,  the  same  clever  domestic  instinct  for 
contrivance,  and  the  same  careful  ways  that  yet  sat 
ill  upon  a  boundless  generosity  of  heart  beneath. 
She  loved  to  be  thought  older  than  she  was,  and  she 
used  the  longest,  biggest,  grandest  words  she  could 
possibly  invent  or  find. 

And  the  village  life  suited  them  all  in  all  respects, 
for,  while  there  was  no  degrading  poverty  anywhere, 
all  the  inhabitants,  from  the  pasteur  to  the  carpenter, 
knew  the  exact  value  of  a  centime  ;  there  was  no 
question  of  keeping  up  impossible  appearances,  but  a 
general  frankness  with  regard  to  the  fundamental 
values  of  clothing,  food,  and  education  that  all  shared 
alike  and  made  no  pretence  about.  Any  faintest  sign 
of  snobbery,  for  instance,  would  have  been  drummed 
out  of  the  little  mountain  hamlet  at  once  by  Gygi, 
the  gendarme,  who  spent  more  time  in  his  fields  and 
vineyards  than  in  his  uniform.  And,  while  every  one 
knew  that  a  title  and  large  estates  were  a  not  im- 
possible future  for  the  famille  anglaise,  it  made  no 
slightest  difference  in  the  treatment  of  them,  and 
indeed  hardly  lent  them  the  flavour  of  a  faintest 
cachet.  They  were  the  English  family  in  La  Cita- 
delle,  and  that  was  all  there  was  about  it. 


vii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  83 

The  peasants,  however,  rather  pitied  the  hard- 
working author  who  '  had  to  write  all  those  books,' 
than  paid  him  honourable  tribute  for  his  work.  It 
seemed  so  unnecessary.     Vineyards  produced  wine  a 

man  could  drink  and  pay  for,  but  books !    Well, 

results  spoke  for  themselves,  and  no  one  who  lived 
in  La  Citadelle  was  millionaire. 

Yet  the  reputation  of  John  Frederic  Campden 
stood  high  enough,  for  all  his  meagre  earnings,  and 
he  was  an  ineffective  author  chiefly,  perhaps,  because 
he  missed  his  audience.  Somewhere,  somehow,  he 
fell  between  two  stools.  And  his  chagrin  was  un- 
deniable ;  for  though  the  poet's  heart  in  him  kept 
all  its  splendid  fires  alight,  his  failure  chilled  a  little 
the  intellect  that  should  fashion  them  along  effect- 
ive moulds.  Now,  with  advancing  years,  the  in- 
creasing cost  of  the  children's  growing-up,  and  the 
failing  of  his  wife's  health  a  little,  the  burdens  of  life 
were  heavier  than  he  cared  to  think  about. 

But  this  evening,  as  the  group  sat  round  the  wide 
peat  fire,  cheerful  and  jolly  in  the  lamplight,  there 
was  certainly  no  sign  of  sadness.  They  were  like  a 
party  of  children  in  which  the  grave  humour  of  the 
ever-knitting  mother  kept  the  balance  true  between 
fun  and  foolishness. 

'  Please,  Daddy,  a  story  at  once,'  Jane  Anne  de- 
manded, '  but  a  told  one,  not  a  read-aloud  one.  I 
like  a  romantic  effort  best.' 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket  for  a  light,  and  Jimbo 
gravely  produced  a  box  he  had  secretly  filled  with 
matches  already  used,  collected  laboriously  from  the 
floor  during  the  week.  Then  Monkey,  full  of  mis- 
chief, came  over  from  the  window  where  she  had 
been  watching  them  with  gasps  of  astonishment  no 
one  had  heeded  through  the  small  end  of  the  opera- 


84  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

glasses.  There  was  a  dancing  brilliance  in  her 
movements,  and  her  eyes,  brown  like  her  mother's, 
sparkled  with  fun  and  wickedness.  Taking  the 
knee  Jimbo  left  unoccupied,  and  waiting  till  the 
diversion  caused  by  the  match-box  had  subsided,  she 
solemnly  placed  a  bread-crumb  in  his  rather  tangled 
beard. 

'  Now  you're  full-dress,'  she  said,  falling  instantly 
so  close  against  him  that  he  could  not  tickle  her, 
while  Mother  glanced  up  a  second  uncertain  whether 
to  criticise  the  impertinence  or  let  it  pass. 

She  let  it  pass.  None  of  the  children  had  the 
faintest  idea  what  it  meant  to  be  afraid  of  their 
father. 

'People  who  waste  bread,'  he  began,  'end  by 
getting  so  thin  themselves  that  they  double  up  like 
paper  and  disappear.' 

'  But  how  thin,  Daddy  ? '  asked  Jane  Anne,  ever 
literal  to  the  death.    'And  is  it  romantic  or  just  silly  ?' 

He  was  puzzled  for  a  moment  what  to  reply. 

'  He  doesn't  know.  He's  making  up,'  piped 
Jimbo. 

'  I  do  know,'  came  the  belated  explanation,  as  he 
put  the  crumb  into  the  bowl  of  his  extinguished  pipe 
with  a  solemnity  that  delighted  them,  but  puzzled 
Jane  Anne,  who  suggested  it  would  taste  '  like  toast 
smelt.'  '  People  who  take  bread  that  doesn't  belong 
to  them  end  by  having  no  dinner ' 

'  But  that  isn't  anything  about  thinness,'  inter- 
rupted Jinny,  still  uncomforted.  Some  one  wasted 
by  love  was  in  her  mind  perhaps. 

'  It  is,  child,  because  they  get  so  frightfully  thin,' 
he  went  on,  '  that  they  end  by  getting  thinner  than 
the  thin  end  of  a  wedge.' 

The  eyes  of  Mother  twinkled,  but  the  children 


vii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  85 

still  stared,  waiting.  They  had  never  heard  of  this 
phrase  about  the  wedge.  Indeed  Jane  Anne  shared 
with  Jimbo  total  ignorance  of  the  word  at  all.  Like 
the  audience  who  read  his  books,  or  rather  ought  to 
have  read  them,  they  expected  something  different, 
yet  still  hoped. 

f  It's  a  rhyme,  and  not  a  story  though,'  he  added, 
anticipating  perhaps  their  possible  disappointment. 
For  the  recent  talk  about  expenses  had  chilled  his 
imagination  too  much  for  an  instantaneous  story, 
whereas  rhymes  came  ever  to  him  easily. 

'  All  right !  Let's  have  it  anyhow,'  came  the 
verdict  in  sentences  of  French  and  English.  And 
in  the  breathless  pause  that  followed,  even  Mother 
looking  up  expectantly  from  her  busy  fingers,  was 
heard  this  strange  fate  of  the  Thin  Child  who  stole 
another's  bread-crumb  : — 

He  then  grew  thinner  than  the  thin, 
The  thin  end  of  the  wedge  ; 
He  grew  so  pitifully  thin 
It  set  his  teeth  on  edge  ; 
But  the  edge  it  set  his  teeth  upon 
Was  worse  than  getting  thinner, 
For  it  was  the  edge  of  appetite, 
And  his  teeth  were  in  no  dinner  ! 

There  was  a  deep  silence.  Mother  looked  as  though 
she  expected  more, — the  good  part  yet  to  come. 
The  rhyme  fell  flat  as  a  pancake,  for  of  course 
the  children  did  not  understand  it.  Its  nonsense, 
clever  enough,  escaped  them.  True  nonsense  is  for 
grown-ups  only.  Jane  Anne  stared  steadily  at  him 
with  a  puzzled  frown.  Her  face  wore  an  expression 
like  a  moth. 

'  Thank  you,  Daddy,  very  much,'  she  said,  certain 
as  ever  that  the  fault  if  any  was  her  own,  since  all 


86         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

that  Daddy  said  and  did  was  simply  splendid.  Where- 
upon the  others  fairly  screamed  with  delight,  turning 
attention  thereby  from  the  dismal  failure. 

'  She  doesn't  understand  it,  but  she's  always  so 
polite  ! '  cried  Monkey. 

Her  mother  quickly  intervened.  '  Never  mind, 
Jane  Anne,'  she  soothed  her,  lest  her  feelings  should 
be  ruffled  ;  '  you  shall  never  want  a  dinner,  lovey  ; 
and  when  all  Monkey's  teeth  are  gone  you'll  still  be 
able  to  munch  away  at  something.' 

But  Jinny's  feelings  were  never  ruffled  exactly,  only 
confused  and  puzzled.  She  was  puzzled  now.  Her 
confidence  in  her  father's  splendour  was  unshakable. 

*  And,  anyhow,  Mother,  you'll  never  be  a  thin 
wedge,'  she  answered,  meaning  to  show  her  gratitude 
by  a  compliment.  She  joined  herself  as  loudly  as 
anybody  in  the  roar  that  followed  this  sally. 
Obviously,  she  had  said  a  clever  and  amusing  thing, 
though  it  was  not  clear  to  her  why  it  was  so.  Her 
flushed  face  was  very  happy  ;  it  even  wore  a  touch 
of  proud  superiority.  Her  talents  were  domestic 
rather  than  intellectual. 

'  Excuse  me,  Daddy,'  she  said  gravely,  in  a  pause 
that  followed  presently.  '  But  what  is  a  wedge, 
exactly  ?  And  I  think  I'd  like  to  copy  that  poetry 
in  my  book,  please.'  For  she  kept  a  book  in  which 
his  efforts  were  neatly  inscribed  in  a  round  copy- 
book handwriting,  and  called  by  Monkey  '  The 
Muddle  Book.'  There  his  unappreciated  doggerels 
found  fame,  though  misunderstood  most  of  all  by 
the  affectionate  child  who  copied  them  so  proudly. 

The  book  was  brought  at  once.  Her  father  wrote 
out  the  nonsense  verse  on  his  knee  and  made  a  funny 
little  illustration  in  the  margin.  '  Oh,  I  say  ! '  said 
Jimbo,  watching   him,  while   Monkey,   lapsing  into 


vii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  87 

French,  contributed  with  her  usual  impudence,  *  Pas 
tant  mal  ! '     They  all  loved  the  illustrations. 

The  general  interest,  then,  as  the  way  is  with 
children,  puppies,  and  other  young  Inconsistencies, 
centred  upon  the  contents  of  the  book.  They  eagerly 
turned  the  pages,  as  though  they  did  not  know  its 
contents  by  heart  already.  They  praised  for  the 
hundredth  time  the  drawing  of  the  Muddle  Animal 
who 

Hung  its  hopes  upon  a  nail 

Or  laid  them  on  the  shelf; 

Then  pricked  its  conscience  with  its  tail, 

And  sat  upon  itself. 

They  looked  also  with  considerable  approval  upon 
the  drawings  and  descriptions  of  the  Muddle  Man 
whose  manners  towards  the  rest  of  the  world  were 
cool ;  because 

He  saw  things  with  his  naked  eye, 
That's  why  his  glance  was  chilly. 

But  the  explanation  of  the  disasters  he  caused  every- 
where by  his  disagreeable  sharpness  of  speech  and 
behaviour  did  not  amuse  them.  They  observed  as 
usual  that  it  was  '  too  impossible '  ;  the  drawings, 
moreover,  did  not  quite  convince  : — 

So  cutting  was  his  speaking  tone 

Each  phrase  snipped  off  a  button, 

So  sharp  his  words,  they  have  been  known 

To  carve  a  leg  of  mutton  ; 

He  shaved  himself  with  sentences, 

And  when  he  went  to  dances, 

He  made — Oh  shocking  tendencies  ! — 

Deep  holes  with  piercing  glances. 

But  on  the  last  page  the  Muddle  Man  behaved 
so  badly,  was  so  positively  indecent  in  his  conduct, 
that  he  was  persuaded  to  disappear  altogether  ;  and 


88  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

his  manner  of  extinguishing  himself  in  the  illustration 
delighted  the  children  far  more  than  the  verse  whose 
fun  again  escaped  them  : — 

They  observed  he  was  indecent, 
But  he  said  it  wasn't  true, 
For  he  pronounced  it  '  in  descent ' — 
Then  disappeared  from  view  ! 

Mother's  alleged  '  second  sight '  was  also  attri- 
buted to  the  fact  that  she  *  looked  twice  before  she 
leaped ' — and  the  drawing  of  that  leap  never  failed 
to  produce  high  spirits.  For  her  calm  and  steady 
way  of  walking — sailing — had  earned  her  the  name 
of  the  frigate — and  this  was  also  illustrated,  with 
various  winds,  all  coloured,  driving  her  along. 

The  time  passed  happily  ;  some  one  turned  the 
lamp  out,  and  Daddy,  regardless  of  expense — he  had 
been  grumbling  about  it  ten  minutes  before — heaped 
on  the  bricks  of  peat.  Riquette,  a  bit  of  movable 
furniture  without  which  the  room  seemed  incom- 
plete, deftly  s'ipped  in  between  the  circle  of  legs  and 
feet,  and  curled  up  upon  Jinny's  lap.  Her  snoring, 
a  wheezy  noise  that  made  Jimbo  wonder  '  why  it 
didn't  scrape  her,'  was  as  familiar  as  the  ticking  of 
the  clock.  Old  Mere  Riquette  knew  her  rights. 
And  she  exacted  them.  Jinny's  lap  was  one  of 
these.  She  had  a  face  like  an  old  peasant  woman, 
with  a  curious  snub  nose  and  irregular  whiskers  that 
betrayed  recklessly  the  advance  of  age.  Her  snores 
and  gentle  purring  filled  the  room  now.  A  hush 
came  over  the  whole  party.  At  seven  o'clock  they 
must  all  troop  over  to  the  Pension  des  Glycines  for 
supper,  but  there  was  still  an  hour  left.  And  it  was 
a  magic  hour.  Sighs  were  audible  here  and  there,  as 
the  exhausted  children  settled  deeper  into  their  chairs. 


vii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  89 

A  change  came  over  the  atmosphere.     Would  nothing 
exciting  ever  happen  ? 

'  The  stars  are  out,'  said  Jimbo  in  his  soft,  gentle 
little  voice,  turning  his  head  towards  the  windows. 
The  others  looked  too — all  except  Mother,  whose 
attitude  suggested  suspiciously  that  she  slept,  and 
Riquette,  who  most  certainly  did  sleep.  Above  the 
rampart  of  the  darkened  Alps  swung  up  the  army  of 
the  stars.  The  brighter  ones  were  reflected  in  the 
lake.  The  sky  was  crowded.  Tiny,  golden  path- 
ways slid  down  the  purple  walls  of  the  night. 
*  Some    one    in    heaven    is    letting    down    the    star- 

o 

ladders  .  .  .  '  he  whispered. 

Jimbo's  sentence  had  marked  the  change  of  key. 
Enchantment  was  abroad — the  Saturday  evening  spell 
was  in  the  room. 

And  suddenly  a  new  enormous  thing  stirred  in 
their  father's  heart.  Whence  it  came,  or  why,  he 
knew  not.  Like  a  fire  it  rose  in  him  deep  down, 
from  very  far  away,  delightful.  Was  it  an  inspira- 
tion coming,  he  wondered?  And  why  did  Jimbo 
use  that  phrase  of  beauty  about  star-ladders  ?  How 
did  it  come  into  the  mind  of  a  little  boy  ?  The 
phrase  opened  a  new  channel  in  the  very  depths  of 
him,  thence  climbing  up  and  outwards,  towards  the 
brain.  .   .  . 

And,  with  a  thrill  of  curious  high  wonder,  he  let 
it  come.  It  was  large  and  very  splendid.  It  came 
with  a  rush — as  of  numerous  whispering  voices  that 
flocked  about  him,  urging  some  exquisite,  distant 
sweetness  in  him  to  unaccustomed  delivery.  A 
softness  of  ten  thousand  stars  trooped  down  into 
his  blood.  Some  constellation  like  the  Pleiades  had 
flung  their  fiery  tackle  across  the  dusk  upon  his 
mind.     His  thought  turned  golden.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  VIII 

We  are  the  stars  which  sing. 

We  sing  with  our  light. 

We  are  the  birds  of  fire. 

We  fly  across  the  heaven. 

Our  light  is  a  star. 

We  make  a  road  for  Spirits, 

A  road  for  the  Great  Spirit. 

Among  us  are  three  hunters 

Who  chase  a  bear  : 

There  never  was  a  time 

When  they  were  not  hunting  ; 

We  look  down  on  the  mountains. 

This  is  the  Song  of  the  Mountains. 

Red  Indian  [Algonquin)  Lyric. 
Translator,  J.  D.  Prince. 

*  A  star-story,  please,'  the  boy  repeated,  cuddling 
up.  They  all  drew,  where  possible,  nearer.  Their 
belief  in  their  father's  powers,  rarely  justified,  was 
pathetic.  Each  time  they  felt  sure  he  would  make 
the  adventures  seem  real,  yet  somehow  he  never 
quite  did.  They  were  aware  that  it  was  invention 
only.  These  things  he  told  about  he  had  not  ex- 
perienced himself.  For  they  badly  needed  a  leader, 
these  children  ;  and  Daddy  just  missed  filling  the 
position.  He  was  too  '  clever,'  his  imagination 
neither  wild  nor  silly  enough,  for  children.  And  he 
felt  it.  He  threw  off  rhymes  and  stories  for  them 
in  a  spirit  of  bravado  rather — an  expression  of  dis- 
appointment. Yet  there  was  passion  in  them  too — 
concealed.  The  public  missed  the  heart  he  showed 
them  in  his  books  in  the  same  way. 

90 


ch.viii     A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND         91 

'  The  stars  are  listening.  .  .  .'  Jimbo's  voice 
sounded  tar  away,  almost  outside  the  window. 
Mother  now  snored  audibly.  Daddy  took  his 
courage  in  both  hands  and  made  the  plunge. 

'  You  know  about  the  Star  Cavern,  I  sup- 
pose  ? '  he  began.     It  was  the  sudden  idea  that 

had  shot  into  him,  he  knew  not  whence. 

<  No.' 

'  Never  heard  of  it.' 

•  Where  is  it,  please  ? ' 

1  Don't  interrupt.  That  wasn't  a  real  question. 
Stories  always  begin  like  that.'  It  was  Jane  Anne 
who  thus  finally  commanded  order. 

'  It's  not  a  story  exactly,  but  a  sort  of  adventure,' 
he  continued,  hesitating  yet  undaunted.  'Star 
Caverns  are  places  where  the  unused  starlight 
gathers.  There  are  numbers  of  them  about  the 
world,  and  one  I  know  of  is  up  here  in  our  moun- 
tains,' he  pointed  through  the  north  wall  towards  the 
pine-clad  Jura,  '  not  far  from  the  slopes  of  Boudry 
where  the  forests  dip  towards  the  precipices  of  the 

Areuse '     The   phrase  ran   oddly  through   him 

like  an  inspiration,  or  the  beginning  of  a  song  he 
once  had  heard  somewhere. 

'  Ah,  beyond  le  Vallon  Vert  ?  I  know,'  whispered 
Jimbo,  his  blue  eyes  big  already  with  wonder. 

*  Towards  the  precipices  on  the  farther  side,' 
came  the  explanation,  '  where  there  are  those  little 
open  spaces  among  the  trees.' 

'  Tell  us  more  exactly,  please.' 

4  Star-rays,  you  see,'  he  evaded  them,  c  are  visible 
in  the  sky  on  their  way  to  us,  but  once  they  touch 
the  earth  they  disappear  and  go  out  like  a  candle. 
Unless  a  chance  puddle,  or  a  pair  of  eyes  happens 
to   be    about    to    catch  them,  you   can't   tell  where 


92  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

they've  gone  to.  They  go  really  into  these  Star 
Caverns.' 

'  But  in  a  puddle  or  a  pair  of  eyes  they'd  be  lost 
just  the  same,'  came  the  objection. 

'  On  the  contrary,'  he  said  ;  '  changed  a  little — 
increased  by  reflection — but  not  lost.' 

There  was  a  pause  ;  the  children  stared,  expect- 
antly.    Here  was  mystery. 

*  See  how  they  mirror  themselves  whenever  pos- 
sible,' he  went  on,  *  doubling  their  light  and  beauty 
by  giving  themselves  away !  What  is  a  puddle 
worth  until  a  Star's  wee  golden  face  shines  out  of  it  ? 
And  then — what  gold  can  buy  it  ?  And  what  are 
your  eyes  worth  until  a  star  has  flitted  in  and  made 
a  nest  there  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  like  that,  you  mean !  '  exclaimed  Jane 

Anne,  remembering  that  the  wonderful  women  in 
the  newspaper  stories  always  had  '  starry  eyes.' 

'  Like  that,  yes.'  Daddy  continued.  '  Their  light 
puts  sympathy  in  you,  and  only  sympathy  makes 
you  lovely  and — and ' 

He  stopped  abruptly.  He  hesitated  a  moment. 
He  was  again  most  suddenly  aware  that  this  strange 
idea  that  was  born  in  him  came  from  somewhere  else, 
almost  from  some  one  else.  It  was  not  his  own  idea, 
nor  had  he  captured  it  completely  yet.  Like  a 
wandering  little  inspiration  from  another  mind  it 
seemed  passing  through  him  on  uncertain,  feathery 
feet.  He  had  suddenly  lost  it  again.  Thought 
wandered.  He  stared  at  Jimbo,  for  Jimbo  somehow 
seemed  the  channel. 

The  children  waited,  then  talked  among  them- 
selves. Daddy  so  often  got  muddled  and  inattentive 
in  this  way.  They  were  accustomed  to  it,  expected 
it  even. 


viii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  93 

1  I  always  love  being  out  at  night,'  said  Monkey, 
her  eyes  very  bright  ;  '  it  sort  of  excites  and  makes 
me  soft  and  happy.' 

'Excuse  me,  Daddy,  but  have  you  been  inside 
one  ?  What's  it  like  ?  The  Cave,  I  mean  ? ' 
Jinny  stuck  to  the  point.  She  had  not  yet  travelled 
beyond  it. 

'  It  all  collects  in  there  and  rises  to  the  top  like 
cream,'  he  went  on,  '  and  has  a  little  tiny  perfume 
like  wild  violets,  and  by  walking  through  it  you  get 
clothed  and  covered  with  it,  and  come  out  again  all 
soft-shiny ' 

'  What's  soft-shiny,  please  ? ' 

1  Something  half-primrose  and  half-moon.  You're 
like  a  star ' 

'  But  how — like  a  star  ?  * 

'Why,'  he  explained  gently,  yet  a  little  dis- 
appointed that  his  adventure  was  not  instantly 
accepted,  'you  shine,  and  your  eyes  twinkle,  and 
everybody  likes  you  and  thinks  you  beautiful ' 

4  Even  if  you're  not  ? '  inquired  Jinny. 

'  But  you  are ' 

1  Couldn't  we  go  there  now  ?  Mother's  fast 
asleep  !  '  suggested  Jimbo  in  a  mysterious  whisper. 
He  felt  a  curious  excitement.  This,  he  felt,  was 
more  real  than  usual.  He  glanced  at  Monkey's  eyes 
a  moment. 

1  Another  time,'  said  Daddy,  already  half  believ- 
ing in  the  truth  of  his  adventure,  yet  not  quite  sure 
of  himself.  '  It  collects,  and  collects,  and  collects. 
Sometimes,  here  and  there,  a  little  escapes  and  creeps 
out  into  yellow  flowers  like  dandelions  and  butter- 
cups. A  little,  too,  slips  below  the  ground  and  fills 
up  empty  cracks  between  the  rocks.  Then  it  hardens, 
gets  dirty,   and   men   dig    it    out   again   and  call  it 


94  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

gold.  And  some  slips  out  by  the  roof — though 
very,  very  little — and  you  see  it  flashing  back  to 
find  the  star  it  belongs  to,  and  people  with  tele- 
scopes call  it  a  shooting    star,   and '     It    came 

pouring  through  him  again. 

'  But  when  you're  in  it — in  the  Cavern,'  asked 
Monkey  impatiently  ;   '  what  happens  then  ? ' 

'  Well,'  he  answered  with  conviction,  '  it  sticks  to 
you.  It  sticks  to  the  eyes  most,  but  a  little  also  to 
the  hair  and  voice,  and  nobody  loves  you  unless 
you've  got  a  bit  of  it  somewhere  on  you.  A  girl, 
before  any  one  falls  in  love  with  her,  has  always 
been  there,  and  people  who  write  stories  and  music 
and  things — all  have  got  some  on  their  fingers  or 
else  nobody  cares  for  what  they  write ' 

'  Oh,  Daddy,  then  why  don't  you  go  there  and 
get  sticky  all  over  with  it?'  Jinny  burst  out  with 
sudden  eagerness,  ever  thinking  of  others  before 
herself.  '  I'll  go  and  get  some  for  you — lots  and 
lots.' 

'  I  have  been  there,'  he  answered  slowly,  '  once 
long,  long  ago.  But  it  didn't  stick  very  well  with 
me.  It  wipes  off  so  quickly  in  the  day-time.  The 
sunlight  kills  it.' 

'  But  you  got  some  ! '  the  child  insisted.  c  And 
you've  got  it  still,  I  mean  ? ' 

'  A  little,  perhaps,  a  very  little.' 

All  felt  the  sadness  in  his  voice  without  under- 
standing it.  There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Then 
the  three  of  them  spoke  in  a  single  breath — 

'Please  show  it  to  us — now,   they  cried. 

*  I'll  try,'  he  said,  after  a  slight  hesitation,  '  but — 
er — it's  only  a  rhyme,  you  see '  ;  and  then  began  to 
murmur  very  low  for  fear  of  waking  Mother  :  he 
almost  sang  it  to  them.     The  flock  of  tiny  voices 


viii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  95 

whispered  it  to  his  blood.     He  merely  uttered  what 
he  heard  : — 

Starlight 

Runs  along  my  mind 

And  rolls  into  a  ball  of  golden  silk — 

A  little  skein 

Of  tangled  glory  ; 

And  when  I  want  to  get  it  out  again 

To  weave  the  pattern  of  a  verse  or  story, 

It  must  unwind. 

It  then  gets  knotted,  looped,  and  all  up-jumbled, 

And  long  before  I  get  it  straight  again,  unwumbled, 

To  make  my  verse  or  story, 

The  interfering  sun  has  risen 

And  burst  with  passion  through  my  silky  prison 

To  melt  it  down  in  dew, 

Like  so  much  spider-gossamer  or  fairy-cotton. 

Don't  you  ? 

/  call  it  rotten  ! 

A  hushed  silence  followed.  Eyes  sought  the  fire. 
No  one  spoke  for  several  minutes.  There  was  a 
faint  laughter,  quickly  over,  but  containing  sighs. 
Only  Jinny  stared  straight  into  her  father's  face, 
expecting  more,  though  prepared  at  any  stage  to 
explode  with  unfeigned  admiration. 

'  But  that  "  don't  you  "  comes  in  the  wrong  place,' 
she  objected  anxiously.      '  It  ought  to  come  after  "  I 

call  it  rotten  " '     She  was  determined  to  make  it 

seem  all  right. 

4  No,  Jinny,'  he  answered  gravely,  '  you  must 
always  put  others  before  yourself.  It's  the  first  rule 
in  life  and  literature.' 

She  dropped  her  eyes  to  the  fire  like  the  others. 
'  Ah,'  she  said,  c  I  see  ;  of  course.'  The  long  word 
blocked  her  mind  like  an  avalanche,  even  while  she 
loved  it. 

•  /  call  it  rotten,'  murmured  Monkey  under  her 


96  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

breath.  Jimbo  made  no  audible  remark.  He 
crossed  his  little  legs  and  folded  his  arms.  He  was 
not  going  to  express  an  opinion  until  he  understood 
better  what  it  was  all  about.  He  began  to  whisper 
to  his  sister.  Another  longish  pause  intervened.  It 
was  Jinny  again  who  broke  it. 

*  And  "wumbled,"  '  she  asked  solemnly  as  though 
the  future  of  everybody  depended  on  it,  '  what  is 
wumbled,  really  ?  There's  no  such  thing,  is  there  ? — 
In  life,  I  mean  ?  '  She  meant  to  add  '  and  literature,' 
but  the  word  stopped  her  like  a  hedge. 

'  It's  what  happens  to  a  verse  or  story  I  lose  in 
that  way,'  he  explained,  while  Jimbo  and  Monkey 
whispered  more  busily  still  among  themselves  about 
something  else.  *  The  bit  of  starlight  that  gets  lost 
and  doesn't  stick,  you  see — ineffective.' 

'  But  there  is  no  such  word,  really/  she  urged, 
determined  to  clear  up  all  she  could.  '  It  rhymes — 
that's  all.' 

'And  there  is  no  verse  or  story,'  he  replied  with 
a  sigh.     '  There  was — that's  all.' 

There  was  another  pause.  Jimbo  and  Monkey 
looked  round  suspiciously.  They  ceased  their  mys- 
terious whispering.  They  clearly  did  not  wish  the 
others  to  know  what  their  confabulation  was  about. 

*  That's  why  your  books  are  wumbled,  is  it  ? ' 
she  inquired,  proud  of  an  explanation  that  excused 
him,  yet  left  his  glory  somehow  unimpaired.  Her 
face  was  a  map  of  puzzled  wrinkles. 

*  Precisely,  Jinny.  You  see,  the  starlight  never 
gets  through  properly  into  my  mind.  It  lies  there 
in  a  knot.  My  plot  is  wumbled.  I  can't  disentangle 
it  quite,  though  the  beauty  lies  there  right  enough ' 

'  Oh,  yes,'  she  interrupted,  '  the  beauty  lies  there 
still.'     She  got  up  suddenly  and  gave  him   a   kiss. 


viii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND 


97 


'  Never  mind,  Daddy,'  she  whispered.  '  I'll  get  it 
straight  for  you  one  day.  I'll  unwumble  it.  I'll  do 
it  like  a  company  promoter,  I  will.'  She  used  words 
culled  from  newspapers. 

*  Thank  you,  child,'  he  smiled,  returning  her  kiss  ; 
1  I'm  sure  you  will.  Only,  you'd  better  let  me  know 
when  you're  coming.  It  might  be  dangerous  to  my 
health  otherwise.' 

She  took  it  with  perfect  seriousness.  *  Oh,  but, 
excuse  me,  I'll  come  when  you're  asleep,'  she  told 
him,  so  low  that  the  others  could  not  hear.  '  I'll 
come  to  you  when  I'm  dreaming.  I  dream  all  night 
like  a  busy  Highlander.' 

'  That's  right,'  he  whispered,  giving  her  a  hug. 
'  Come  when  I'm  asleep  and  all  the  stars  are  out  ; 
and  bring  a  comb  and  a  pair  of  scissors ' 

'  And  a  hay-rake,'  added  Monkey,  overhearing. 

Everybody  laughed.  The  children  cuddled  up 
closer  to  him.  They  pitied  him.  He  had  failed 
again,  though  his  failure  was  as  much  a  pleasure  as 
his  complete  success.  They  sat  on  his  knees  and 
played  with  him  to  make  up  for  it,  repeating  bits 
of  the  rhyme  they  could  remember.  Then  Mother 
and  Riquette  woke  up  together,  and  the  spell  was 
broken.  The  party  scattered.  Only  Jimbo  and  his 
younger  sister,  retiring  into  a  corner  by  themselves, 
continued  their  mysterious  confabulation.  Their 
faces  were  flushed  with  excitement.  There  was  a 
curious  animation  in  their  eyes — though  this  may 
have  been  borrowed  from  the  embers  of  the  peat. 
Or,  it  may  have  been  the  stars,  for  they  were  close 
to  the  open  window.  Both  seemed  soft-shiny  some- 
how.     They,  certainly,  were  not  wumbled. 

And  several  hours  later,  when  they  had  returned 

H 


98  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

from  supper  at  the  Pension  and  lay  in  bed,  exchang- 
ing their  last  mysterious  whispers  across  the  darkness, 
Monkey  said  in  French — 

'Jimbo,  I'm  going  to  find  that  Cavern  where  the 
star  stuff  lies,'  and  Jimbo  answered  audaciously,  '  I've 
already  been  there.' 

'  Will  you  show  me  the  way,  then  ? '  she  asked 
eagerly,  and  rather  humbly. 

*  Perhaps,'  he  answered  from  beneath  the  bed- 
clothes, then  added,  '  Of  course  I  will.'  He  merely 
wished  to  emphasise  the  fact  that  he  was  leader. 

'  Sleep  quickly,  then,  and  join  me — over  there.' 
It  was  their  game  to  believe  they  joined  in  one 
another's  dreams. 

They  slept.  And  the  last  thing  that  reached  them 
from  the  outer  world  was  their  mother's  voice  calling 
to  them  her  customary  warning  :  that  the  ramoneur 
was  already  in  the  chimney  and  that  unless  they  were 
asleep  in  five  minutes  he  would  come  and  catch  them 
by  the  tail.  For  the  Sweep  they  looked  upon  with 
genuine  awe.  His  visits  to  the  village — once  in  the 
autumn  and  once  in  the  spring — were  times  of  shivery 
excitement. 

Presently  Mother  rose  and  sailed  on  tiptoe  round 
the  door  to  peep.  And  a  smile  spread  softly  over  her 
face  as  she  noted  the  characteristic  evidences  of  the 
children  beside  each  bed.  Monkey's  clothes  lay  in  a 
scattered  heap  of  confusion,  half  upon  the  floor,  but 
Jimbo's  garments  were  folded  in  a  precise,  neat  pile 
upon  the  chair.  They  looked  ready  to  be  packed 
into  a  parcel.  His  habits  were  so  orderly.  His 
school  blouse  hung  on  the  back,  the  knickerbockers 
were  carefully  folded,  and  the  black  belt  lay  coiled 
in  a  circle  on  his  coat  and  what  he  termed  his 
4  westkit.'     Beneath  the  chair  the  little  pair  of  very 


viii         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  99 

dirty  boots  stood  side  by  side.  Mother  stooped  and 
kissed  the  round  plush-covered  head  that  just  emerged 
from  below  the  mountainous  duvet.  He  looked  like 
a  tiny  radish  lying  in  a  big  ploughed  field. 

Then,  hunting  for  a  full  five  minutes  before  she 
discovered  the  shoes  of  Monkey,  one  beneath  the  bed 
and  the  other  inside  her  petticoat,  she  passed  on  into 
the  little  kitchen  where  she  cleaned  and  polished  both 
pairs,  and  then  replaced  them  by  their  respective 
owners.  This  done,  she  laid  the  table  in  the  outer 
room  for  their  breakfast  at  half-past  six,  saw  that 
their  school-books  and  satchels  were  in  order,  gave 
them  each  a  little  more  unnecessary  tucking-up  and 
a  kiss  so  soft  it  could  not  have  waked  a  butterfly, 
and  then  returned  to  her  chair  before  the  fire  where 
she  resumed  the  mending  of  a  pile  of  socks  and 
shirts,  blouses  and  stockings,  to  say  nothing  of  other 
indescribable  garments,  that  lay  in  a  formidable  heap 
upon  the  big  round  table. 

This  was  her  nightly  routine.  Sometimes  her 
husband  joined  her.  Then  they  talked  the  children 
over  until  midnight,  discussed  expenses  that  threat- 
ened to  swamp  them,  yet  turned  out  each  month 
'just  manageable  somehow'  and  finally  made  a  cup 
of  cocoa  before  retiring,  she  to  her  self-made  bed 
upon  the  sofa,  and  he  to  his  room  in  the  carpenter's 
house  outside  the  village.  But  sometimes  he  did  not 
come.  He  remained  in  the  Pension  to  smoke  and 
chat  with  the  Russian  and  Armenian  students,  who 
attended  daily  lectures  in  the  town,  or  else  went  over 
to  his  own  quarters  to  work  at  the  book  he  was 
engaged  on  at  the  moment.  To-night  he  did  not 
come.  A  light  in  an  attic  window,  just  visible  above 
the  vineyards,  showed  that  he  was  working. 

The  room  was  very  still  ;  only  the  click  of  the 


ioo        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND    ch.  v.,. 

knitting  needles  or  the  soft  noise  of  the  collapsing 
peat  ashes  broke  the  stillness.  Riquette  snored  before 
the  fire  less  noisily  than  usual. 

*  He'sworking  very  late  to-night,'  thought  Mother, 
noticing  the  lighted  window.  She  sighed  audibly  ; 
mentally  she  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Daddy  had 
long  ago  left  that  inner  preserve  of  her  heart  where 
she  completely  understood  him.  Sympathy  between 
them,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  had  worn  rather 
thin. 

'  I  hope  he  won't  overtire  himself,'  she  added,  but 
this  was  the  habit  of  perfunctory  sympathy.  She 
might  equally  have  said,  '  I  wish  he  would  do  some- 
thing to  bring  in  a  little  money  instead  of  earning 
next  to  nothing  and  always  complaining  about  the 
expenses.' 

Outside  the  stars  shone  brightly  through  the  fresh 
spring  night,  where  April  turned  in  her  sleep,  dream- 
ing that  May  was  on  the  way  to  wake  her. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Wrap  thy  form  in  a  mantle  gray, 

Star-inwrought  ! 
Blind  with  thine  hair  the  eyes  of  Day  } 
Kiss  her  until  she  be  wearied  out, 
Then  wander  o'er  city,  and  sea,  and  land, 
Touching  all  with  thine  opiate  wand — 

Come,  long  sought ! 

To  Night,  Shelley. 

Now,  cats  are  curious  creatures,  and  not  without 
reason,  perhaps,  are  they  adored  by  some,  yet  regarded 
with  suspicious  aversion  by  others.  They  know  so 
much  they  never  dare  to  tell,  while  affecting  that 
they  know  nothing  and  are  innocent.  For  it  is 
beyond  question  that  several  hours  later,  when  the 
village  and  the  Citadelle  were  lost  in  slumber,  Mere 
Riquette  stirred  stealthily  where  she  lay  upon  the 
hearth,  opened  her  big  green  eyes,  and — began  to 
wash. 

But  this  toilette  was  pretence  in  case  any  one  was 
watching.  Really,  she  looked  about  her  all  the  time. 
Her  sleep  also  had  been  that  sham  sleep  of  cats 
behind  which  various  plots  and  plans  mature — a 
questionable  business  altogether.  The  washing,  as 
soon  as  she  made  certain  no  one  saw  her,  gave  place 
to  another  manoeuvre.  She  stretched  as  though  her 
bones  were  of  the  very  best  elastic.  Gathering  her- 
self together,  she  arched  her  round  body  till  it 
resembled  a  toy  balloon  straining  to  rise  against  the 

IOI 


102        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

pull  of  four  thin  ropes  that  held  it  tightly  to  the 
ground.  Then,  unable  to  float  off  through  the  air, 
as  she  had  expected,  she  slowly  again  subsided.  The 
balloon  deflated.  She  licked  her  chops,  twitched  her 
whiskers,  curled  her  tail  neatly  round  her  two  front 
paws — and  grinned  complacently.  She  waited  before 
that  extinguished  fire  of  peat  as  though  she  had  never 
harboured  a  single  evil  purpose  in  all  her  days.  '  A 
saucer  of  milk,'  she  gave  the  world  to  understand, 
'  is  the  only  thing  /  care  about.'  Her  smile  of 
innocence  and  her  attitude  of  meek  simplicity  pro- 
claimed this  to  the  universe  at  large.  '  That's  me,' 
she  told  the  darkness,  '  and  I  don't  care  a  bit  who 
knows  it.'  She  looked  so  sleek  and  modest  that  a 
mouse  need  not  have  feared  her.  But  she  did  not 
add,  '  That's  what  I  mean  the  world  to  think,'  for 
this  belonged  to  the  secret  life  cats  never  talk  about. 
Those  among  humans  might  divine  it  who  could,  and 
welcome.  They  would  be  admitted.  But  the  rest 
of  the  world  were  regarded  with  mere  tolerant  dis- 
dain.    They  bored. 

Then,  satisfied  that  she  was  unobserved,  Mere 
Riquette  abandoned  all  further  pretence,  and  stalked 
silently  about  the  room.  The  starlight  just  made 
visible  her  gliding  shadow,  as  first  she  visited  the 
made-up  sofa-bed  where  the  exhausted  mother  snored 
mildly  beneath  the  book-shelves,  and  then,  after  a 
moment's  keen  inspection,  turned  back  and  went  at 
a  quicker  pace  into  the  bedroom  where  the  children 
slept.  There  the  night-light  made  her  movements 
easily  visible.  The  cat  was  excited.  Something 
bigger  than  any  mouse  was  coming  into  her  life 
just  now. 

Riquette  then  witnessed  a  wonderful  and  beautiful 
thing,  yet  witnessed  it   obviously  not   for   the   first 


ix  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        103 

time.  Her  manner  suggested  no  surprise.  '  It's  like 
a  mouse,  only  bigger,'  her  expression  said.  And  by 
this  she  meant  that  it  was  natural.  She  accepted  it 
as  right  and  proper. 

For  Monkey  got  out  of  herself  as  out  of  a  case. 
She  slipped  from  her  body  as  a  sword  slips  from  its 
sheath,  yet  the  body  went  on  breathing  in  the  bed 
just  as  before  ;  the  turned-up  nose  with  the  little  plat- 
form at  its  tip  did  not  cease  from  snoring,  and  the 
lids  remained  fastened  tightly  over  the  brilliant  brown 
eyes,  buttoned  down  so  securely  for  the  night.  Two 
plaits  of  hair  lay  on  the  pillow  ;  another  rose  and  fell 
with  the  regular  breathing  of  her  little  bosom.  But 
Monkey  herself  stood  softly  shining  on  the  floor 
within  a  paw's  length. 

Riquette  blinked  her  eyes  and  smiled  complacently. 
Jimbo  was  close  behind  her,  even  brighter  than  his 
sister,  with  eyes  like  stars. 

The  visions  of  cats  are  curious  things,  no  doubt, 
and  few  may  guess  their  furry,  silent  pathways  as 
they  go  winding  along  their  length  of  inconsequent 
development.  For,  softer  than  any  mouse,  the 
children  glided  swiftly  into  the  next  room  where 
Mother  slept  beneath  the  book-shelves — two  shining 
little  radiant  figures,  hand  in  hand.  They  tried  for 
a  moment  to  pull  out  Mother  too,  but  found  her 
difficult  to  move.  Somewhere  on  the  way  she  stuck. 
They  gave  it  up. 

Turning  towards  the  window  that  stood  open 
beyond  the  head  of  the  sofa-bed,  they  rose  up  lightly 
and  floated  through  it  out  into  the  starry  night. 
Riquette  leaped  like  a  silent  shadow  after  them,  but 
before  she  reached  the  roof  of  red-brown  tiles  that 
sloped  down  to  the  yard,  Jimbo  and  Monkey  were 
already  far  away.     She  strained  her  big  green  eyes  in 


104        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

vain,  seeing  nothing  but  the  tops  of  the  plane  trees, 
thick  with  tiny  coming  leaves,  the  sweep  of  vines  and 
sky,  and  the  tender,  mothering  night  beyond.  She 
pattered  softly  back  again,  gave  a  contemptuous 
glance  at  Mother  in  passing,  and  jumped  up  at  once 
into  the  warm  nest  of  sheets  that  gaped  invitingly 
between  the  shoulder  of  Jimbo's  body  and  the  pillow. 
She  shaped  the  opening  to  her  taste,  kneading  it  with 
both  front  paws,  turned  three  times  round,  and  then 
lay  down.  Curled  in  a  ball,  her  nose  buried  between 
her  back  feet,  she  was  asleep  in  a  single  moment. 
Her  whiskers  ceased  to  quiver. 

The  children  were  tugging  at  Daddy  now  over  in 
the  carpenter's  house.  His  bed  was  short,  and  his 
body  lay  in  a  kind  of  knot.  On  the  chair  beside  it 
were  books  and  papers,  and  a  candle  that  had  burnt 
itself  out.  A  pencil  poked  its  nose  out  among  the 
sheets,  and  it  was  clear  he  had  fallen  asleep  while 
working. 

'  Wumbled  ! '  sighed  Jimbo,  pointing  to  the 
scribbled  notes.  But  Monkey  was  busy  pulling  him 
out,  and  did  not  answer.  Then  Jimbo  helped  her. 
And  Daddy  came  out  magnificently — as  far  as  the  head 
— then  stuck  like  Mother.  They  pulled  in  vain. 
Something  in  his  head  prevented  complete  release. 

'  En  voila  un! '  laughed  Monkey.  '  Quel  homme  !  ' 
It  was  her  natural  speech,  the  way  she  talked  at 
school. 

'  It's  a  pity,'  said  Jimbo  with  a  little  sigh.  They 
gave  it  up,  watching  him  slide  slowly  back  again. 
The  moment  he  was  all  in  they  turned  towards  the 
open  window.  Hand  in  hand  they  sailed  out  over 
the  sleeping  village.  And  from  almost  every  house 
they  heard  a  sound  of  weeping.  There  were  sighs 
and  prayers  and  pleadings.     All  slept  and  dreamed 


ix  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        105 

— dreamed  of  their  difficulties  and  daily  troubles. 
Released  in  sleep,  their  longings  rose  to  heaven  uncon- 
sciously, automatically  as  it  were.  Even  the  cheerful 
and  the  happy  yearned  a  little,  even  the  well-to-do 
whom  the  world  judged  so  secure — these,  too,  had 
their  burdens  that  found  release,  and  so  perhaps  relief 
in  sleep. 

'  Come,  and  we'll  help  them,'  Jimbo  said  eagerly. 
*  We  can  change  all  that  a  little.  Oh,  I  say,  what  a 
lot  we've  got  to  do  to-night.' 

•  Je  crois  bien,'  laughed  Monkey,  turning  somer- 
saults for  joy  as  she  followed  him.  Her  tendency  to 
somersaults  in  this  condition  was  irresistible,  and  a 
source  of  worry  to  Jimbo,  who  classed  it  among  the 
foolish  habits  of  what  he  called  '  womans  and  things 
like  that  ! ' 

And  the  sound  came  loudest  from  the  huddled 
little  building  by  the  Church,  the  Pension  where  they 
had  their  meals,  and  where  Jinny  had  her  bedroom. 
But  Jinny,  they  found,  was  already  out,  off  upon 
adventures  of  her  own.  A  solitary  child,  she  always 
went  her  independent  way  in  everything.  They 
dived  down  into  the  first  floor,  and  there,  in  a  narrow 
bedroom  whose  windows  stood  open  upon  the  wistaria 
branches,  they  found  Madame  Jequier  — '  Tante 
Jeanne,'  as  they  knew  the  sympathetic,  generous 
creature  best,  sister-in-law  of  the  Postmaster — not 
sleeping  like  the  others,  but  wide  awake  and  praying 
vehemently  in  a  wicker-chair  that  creaked  with  every 
nervous  movement  that  she  made.  All  about  her 
were  bits  of  paper  covered  with  figures,  bills,  calcula- 
tions, and  the  rest. 

1  We  can't  get  at  her,'  said  Monkey,  her  laughter 
hushed  for  a  moment.  '  There's  too  much  sadness. 
Come  on  !     Let's  go  somewhere  else.' 


106        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

But  Jimbo  held  her  tight.  *  Let's  have  a  try. 
Listen,  you  silly,  can't  you  !  ' 

They  stood  for  several  minutes,  listening  together, 
while  the  brightness  of  their  near  approach  seemed  to 
change  the  woman's  face  a  little.  She  looked  up  and 
listened  as  though  aware  of  something  near  her. 

'  She's  praying  for  others  as  well  as  herself,' 
explained  Jimbo. 

'  (^a  vaut  la  peine  alors,'  said  Monkey.  And  they 
drew  cautiously  nearer.  .  .  .  But,  soon  desisting,  the 
children  were  far  away,  hovering  about  the  mountains. 
They  had  no  steadiness  as  yet. 

'  Starlight,'  Jimbo  was  singing  to  himself,  *  runs 
along  my  mind.' 

4  You're  all  up-jumbled,'  Monkey  interrupted  him 
with  a  laugh,  turning  repeated  somersaults  till  she 
looked  like  a  Catherine  wheel  of  brightness. 

*  .  .  .  the  pattern  of  my  verse  or  story  .  .  .' 
continued  Jimbo  half  aloud,  *  .  .  .  a  little  ball  of 
tangled  glory.   .   .  .' 

'  You  must  unwind  ! '  cried  Monkey.  *  Look 
out,  it's  the  sun  !     It'll  melt  us  into  dew  !  ' 

But  it  was  not  the  sun.  Out  there  beyond  them, 
towards  the  purple  woods  still  sleeping,  appeared  a 
draught  of  starbeams  like  a  broad,  deep  river  of  gold. 
The  rays,  coming  from  all  corners  of  the  sky,  wove 
a  pattern  like  a  network. 

4  Jimbo  !  '  gasped  the  girl,  '  it's  like  a  fishing-net. 
We've  never  noticed  it  before.' 

4  It  is  a  net,'  he  answered,  standing  still  as  a  stone, 
though  he  had  not  thought  of  it  himself  until  she 
said  so.  He  instantly  dressed  himself,  as  he  always 
translated  /'/  se  dressait  in  his  funny  Franco-English. 
Dijh  and  comme  fay  too,  appeared  everywhere.  '  It  is 
a  net  like  that.     I  saw  it  already  before,  once/ 


,x  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        107 

'  Monkey,'  he  added,  '  do  you  know  what  it  reall) 
is  ?     Oh,  I  say  !  ' 

'Of  course  I  do.'  She  waited  nevertheless  for 
him  to  tell  her,  and  he  was  too  gallant  just  then  in 
his  proud  excitement  for  personal  exultation. 

'  It's  the  Star  Cave — it's  Daddy's  Star  Cave.  He 
said  it  was  up  here  "  where  the  Boudry  forests  dip 
below  the  cliffs  towards  the  Areuse."  .  .  .'  He 
remembered  the  very  words. 

His  sister  forgot  to  turn  her  usual  somersaults. 
Wonder  caught  them  both. 

'A  pair  of  eyes,  then,  or  a  puddle!  Quick!' 
she  cried  in  a  delighted  whisper.  She  looked  about 
her  everywhere  at  once,  making  confused  and 
rushing  little  movements  of  helplessness.  '  Quick, 
quick  ! ' 

'  No,'  said  Jimbo,  with  a  man's  calm  decision, 
'  it's  when  they  cant  find  eyes  or  puddles  that  they 
go  in  there.     Don't  interfere.' 

She  admitted  her  mistake.  This  was  no  time  to 
press  a  petty  advantage. 

'  I'll  shut  my  eyes  while  you  sponge  up  the  puddles 
with  a  wedge  of  moss,'  she  began.  But  her  brother 
cut  her  short.  He  was  very  sure  of  himself.  He 
was  leader  beyond  all  question. 

'  You  follow  me,'  he  commanded  firmly,  '  and 
you'll  get  in  somehow.  We'll  get  all  sticky  with  it. 
Then  we'll  come  out  again  and  help  those  crying 
people  like  Tante  Jeanne  and.  .  .  .'  A  list  of  names 
poured  out.     '  They'll  think  us  wonderful ' 

1  We  shall  be  wonderful,'  whispered  Monkey, 
obeying,  yet  peeping  with  one  big  brown  eye. 

The  cataract  of  starbeams  rushed  past  them  in  a 
flood  of  gold. 

They   moved   towards   an   opening    in   the    trees 


108        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

where  the  limestone  cliffs  ran  into  rugged  shapes 
with  pinnacles  and  towers.  They  found  the  entrance 
in  the  rocks.  Water  dripped  over  it,  making  little 
splashes.  The  lime  had  run  into  hanging  pillars 
and  a  fringe  of  pointed  fingers.  Past  this  the  river 
of  starlight  poured  its  brilliant  golden  stream.  Its 
soft  brightness  shone  yellow  as  a  shower  of  primrose 
dust. 

*  Look  out !  The  Interfering  Sun  ! '  gasped 
Monkey  again,  awed  and  confused  with  wonder. 
'  We  shall  melt  in  dew  or  fairy  cotton.  Don't 
you  ?  .   .  .   I  call  it  rotten.   .  .  ! ' 

'  You'll  unwind  all  right,'  he  told  her,  trying  hard 
to  keep  his  head  and  justify  his  leadership.  He, 
too,  remembered  phrases  here  and  there.  '  I'm  a  bit 
knotted,  looped,  and  all  up -jumbled  too,  inside. 
But  the  sun  is  miles  away  still.  We're  both  soft- 
shiny  still.' 

They  stooped  to  enter,  plunging  their  bodies  to 
the  neck  in  the  silent  flood  of  sparkling  amber. 

Then  happened  a  strange  thing.  For  how  could 
they  know,  these  two  adventurous,  dreaming  chil- 
dren, that  Thought  makes  images  which,  regardless 
of  space,  may  flash  about  the  world,  and  reach  minds 
anywhere  that  are  sweetly  tuned  to  their  acceptance  ? 

1  What's  that  ?  Look  out  !  Gare !  Hold 
tight ! '  In  his  sudden  excitement  Jimbo  mixed 
questions  with  commands.  He  had  caught  her  by 
the  hand.  There  was  a  new  sound  in  the  heavens 
above  them — a  roaring,  rushing  sound.  Like  the 
thunder  of  a  train,  it  swept  headlong  through  the 
sky.     Voices  were  audible  too. 

'  There's  something  enormous  caught  in  the  star- 
net,'  he  whispered. 

'  It's  Mother,  then,'  said  Monkey. 


ix  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        109 

They  both  looked  up,  trembling  with  anticipa- 
tion. They  saw  a  big,  dark  body  like  a  thunder- 
cloud hovering  above  their  heads.  It  had  a  line  of 
brilliant  eyes.  From  one  end  issued  a  column  of 
white  smoke.  It  settled  slowly  downwards,  moving 
softly  yet  with  a  great  air  of  bustle  and  importance. 
Was  this  the  arrival  of  a  dragon,  or  Mother  coming 
after  them  ?  The  blood  thumped  in  their  ears,  their 
hands  felt  icy.  The  thing  dipped  slowly  through 
the  trees.     It  settled,  stopped,  began  to  purr. 

'  It's  a  railway  train,'  announced  Jimbo  finally 
with  authority  that  only  just  disguised  amazement. 
'  And  the  passengers  are  getting  out.'  With  a  sigh 
of  immense  relief  he  said  it.  'You're  not  in  any 
danger,  Monkey,'  he  added. 

He  drew  his  sister  back  quickly  a  dozen  steps, 
and  they  hid  behind  a  giant  spruce  to  watch.  The 
scene  that  followed  was  like  the  holiday  spectacle  in 
a  London  Terminus,  except  that  the  passengers  had 
no  luggage.  The  other  difference  was  that  they 
seemed  intent  upon  some  purpose  not  wholly  for 
their  own  advantage.  It  seemed,  too,  they  had 
expected  somebody  to  meet  them,  and  were  accord- 
ingly rather  confused  and  disappointed.  They 
looked  about  them  anxiously. 

1  Last  stop  ;  all  get  out  here  ! '  a  Guard  was  cry- 
ing in  a  kind  of  pleasant  singing  voice.  '  Return 
journey  begins  five  minutes  before  the  Interfering 
Sun  has  risen.' 

Jimbo  pinched  his  sister's  arm  till  she  nearly 
screamed.  '  Hear  that  ? '  he  whispered.  But 
Monkey  was  too  absorbed  in  the  doings  of  the  busy 
passengers  to  listen  or  reply.  For  the  first  passenger 
that  hurried  past  her  was  no  less  a  person  than — 
Jane  Anne !      Her   face  was  not  puzzled  now.     It 


no        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

was  like  a  little  sun.  She  looked  utterly  happy  and 
contented,  as  though  she  had  found  the  place  and 
duties  that  belonged  to  her. 

'  Jinny  !  '  whispered  the  two  in  chorus.  But 
Jane  Anne  did  not  so  much  as  turn  her  head.  She 
slipped  past  them  like  a  shaft  of  light.  Her  hair 
fell  loose  to  her  waist.  She  went  towards  the 
entrance.     The  flood  rose  to  her  neck. 

'  Oh  !  there  she  is  ! '  cried  a  voice.  '  She  travelled 
with  us  instead  of  coming  to  meet  us.'  Monkey 
smiled.  She  knew  her  sister's  alien,  unaccountable 
ways  only  too  well. 

The  train  had  settled  down  comfortably  enough 
between  the  trees,  and  lay  there  breathing  out  a 
peaceable  column  of  white  smoke,  panting  a  little  as 
it  did  so.  The  Guard  went  down  the  length  of  it, 
turning  out  the  lamps  ;  and  from  the  line  of  open 
doors  descended  the  stream  of  passengers,  all  hurry- 
ing to  the  entrance  of  the  cave.  Each  one  stopped 
a  moment  in  front  of  the  Guard,  as  though  to  get  a 
ticket  clipped,  but  instead  of  producing  a  piece  of 
pasteboard,  or  the  Guard  a  punching  instrument, 
they  seemed  to  exchange  a  look  together.  Each 
one  stared  into  his  face,  nodded,  and  passed  on. 

'  What  blue  eyes  they've  got,'  thought  Monkey 
to  herself,  as  she  peered  into  each  separate  face  as 
closely  as  she  dared.  '  I  wish  mine  were  like  that ! ' 
The  wind,  sighing  through  the  tree-tops,  sent  a 
shower  of  dew  about  their  feet.  The  children 
started.  '  What  a  lovely  row  !  '  Jimbo  whispered. 
It  was  like  footsteps  of  a  multitude  on  the  needles. 
The  fact  that  it  was  so  clearly  audible  showed 
how  softly  all  these  passengers  moved  about  their 
business. 

The    Guard,  they    noticed   then,  called    out   the 


«  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        m 

names  of  some  of  them  ;  perhaps  of  all,  only  in  the 
first  excitement  they  did  not  catch  them  properly. 
And  each  one  went  on  at  once  towards  the  entrance 
of  the  cave  and  disappeared  in  the  pouring  river  of 
gold. 

The  light-footed  way  they  moved,  their  swiftness 
as  of  shadows,  the  way  they  tossed  their  heads  and 
flung  their  arms  about — all  this  made  the  children 
think  it  was  a  dance.  Monkey  felt  her  own  legs 
twitch  to  join  them,  but  her  little  brother's  will 
restrained  her. 

'  If  you  turn  a  somersault  here,'  he  said  solemnly, 
*  we're  simply  lost.'  He  said  it  in  French  ;  the  long 
word  had  not  yet  dawned  upon  his  English  con- 
sciousness. They  watched  with  growing  wonder 
then,  and  something  like  terror  seized  them  as  they 
saw  a  man  go  past  them  with  a  very  familiar  look 
about  him.  He  went  in  a  cloud  of  sparkling,  black 
dust  that  turned  instantly  into  shining  gold  when  it 
reached  the  yellow  river  from  the  stars.  His  face 
was  very  dirty. 

*  It's  not  the  ramoneur]  whispered  Jimbo,  un- 
certain whether  the  shiver  he  felt  was  his  sister's  or 
his  own.  '  He's  much  too  springy.'  Sweeps  always 
had  a  limp. 

For  the  figure  shot  along  with  a  running,  dancing 
leap  as  though  he  moved  on  wires.  He  carried 
long  things  over  his  shoulders.  He  flashed  into  the 
stream  like  a  shadow  swallowed  by  a  flame.  And 
as  he  went,  they  caught  such  merry  words,  half 
sung,  half  chanted  : — 

'  I'll  mix  their  smoke  with  hope  and  mystery  till 

they  see  dreams  and  faces  in  their  fires '  and  he 

was  gone. 

Behind   him   came   a   couple    arm    in   arm,   their 


ii2        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chat. 

movements  equally  light  and  springy,  but  the  one 
behind  dragging  a  little,  as  though  lazily.  They 
wore  rags  and  torn  old  hats  and  had  no  collars  to 
their  shirts.  The  lazy  one  had  broken  boots 
through  which  his  toes  showed  plainly.  The  other 
who  dragged  him  had  a  swarthy  face  like  the 
gypsies  who  once  had  camped  near  their  house  in 
Essex  long,  oh,  ever  so  long  ago. 

'  I'll  get  some  too,'  the  slow  one  sang  huskily  as 
he  stumbled  along  with  difficulty  '  but  there's  never 
any  hurry.  I'll  fill  their  journeys  with  desire  and 
make  adventure  call  to  them  with  love ' 

'  And  I,'  the  first  one  answered,  '  will  sprinkle 
all  their  days  with  the  sweetness  of  the  moors  and 
open  fields,  till  houses  choke  their  lungs  and  they 
come  out  to  learn  the  stars  by  name.     Ho,  ho  ! ' 

They  dipped,  with  a  flying  leap,  into  the  rushing 
flood.  Their  rags  and  filthy  slouched  hats  flashed 
radiant  as  they  went,  all  bathed  and  cleaned  in  glory. 

Others  came  after  them  in  a  continuous  stream, 
some  too  outlandish  to  be  named  or  recognised, 
others  half  familiar,  very  quick  and  earnest,  but 
merry  at  the  same  time,  and  all  intent  upon  bringing 
back  something  for  the  world.  It  was  not  for  them- 
selves alone,  or  for  their  own  enjoyment  that  they 
hurried  in  so  eagerly. 

'  How  splendid  !  What  a  crew  !  '  gasped 
Monkey.  '  Quel  spectacle  ! '  And  she  began  a 
somersault. 

'  Be  quiet,  will  you  ?'  was  the  rejoinder,  as  a  figure 
who  seemed  to  have  a  number  of  lesser  faces  within 
his  own  big  one  of  sunburned  brown,  tumbled  by 
them  somewhat  heavily  and  left  a  smell  of  earth  and 
leaves  and  potting-sheds  about  the  trees  behind  him. 
'  Won't  my  flowers  just  shine  and  dazzle  'em  ?     And 


ix  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        113 

won't  the  dead  leaves  crackle  as  I  burn  'em  up  ! '  he 
chuckled  as  he  disappeared  from  view.  There  was 
a  rush  of  light  as  an  eddy  of  the  star-stream  caught 
him,  and  something  certainly  went  up  in  flame.  A 
faint  odour  reached  the  children  that  was  like  the 
odour  of  burning  leaves. 

Then,  with  a  rush,  came  a  woman  whose  im- 
mensely long  thin  arms  reached  out  in  front  of  her 
and  vanished  through  the  entrance  a  whole  minute 
before  the  rest  of  her.  But  they  could  not  see  the 
face.  Some  one  with  high  ringing  laughter  followed, 
though  they  could  not  see  the  outline  at  all.  It  went 
so  fast,  they  only  heard  the  patter  of  light  footsteps 
on  the  moss  and  needles.  Jimbo  and  Monkey  felt 
slightly  uncomfortable  as  they  watched  and  listened, 
and  the  feeling  became  positive  uneasiness  the  next 
minute  as  a  sound  of  cries  and  banging  reached 
them  from  the  woods  behind.  There  was  a  great 
commotion  going  on  somewhere  in  the  train. 

'  I  can't  get  out,  I  can't  get  out  ! '  called  a  voice 
unhappily.  *  And  if  I  do,  how  shall  I  ever  get  in 
again?  The  entrance  is  so  ridiculously  small.  I 
shall  only  stick  and  fill  it  up.  Why  did  I  ever 
come  ?     Oh,  why  did  I  come  at  all  ? ' 

1  Better  stay  where  you  are,  lady,'  the  Guard  was 
saying.  '  You're  good  ballast.  You  can  keep  the 
train  down.  That's  something.  Steady  thinking's 
always  best,  you  know.' 

Turning,  the  children  saw  a  group  of  figures 
pushing  and  tugging  at  a  dark  mass  that  appeared 
to  have  stuck  halfway  in  the  carriage  door.  The 
pressure  of  many  willing  hands  gave  it  a  different 
outline  every  minute.  It  was  like  a  thing  of  india- 
rubber  or  elastic.  The  roof  strained  outwards  with 
ominous  cracking  sounds  ;   the  windows  threatened 

1 


ii4        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

to  smash  ;  the  foot-board,  supporting  the  part  of 
her  that  had  emerged,  groaned  with  the  weight 
already. 

'Oh,  what's  the  good  of  meV  cried  the  queer 
deep  voice  with  petulance.  '  You  couldn't  get  a 
wisp  of  hay  in  there,  much  less  all  of  me.  I  should 
block  the  whole  cave  up  ! ' 

*  Come  out  a  bit !'  a  voice  cried. 

*  I  can't.' 

'  Go  back  then  ! '  suggested  the  Guard. 

'But  I  can't.     Besides  I'm  upside  down!' 

'You  haven't  got  any  upside  down,'  was  the 
answer  ;   '  so  that's  impossible.' 

'  Well,  anyhow,  I'm  in  a  mess  and  muddle  like 
this,'  came  the  smothered  voice,  as  the  figures  pulled 
and  pushed  with  increasing  energy.  '  And  my 
tarpaulin  skirt  is  all  askew.  The  winds  are  at  it  as 
usual.' 

'  Nothing  short  of  a  gale  can  help  you  now,'  was 
somebody's  verdict,  while  Monkey  whispered  beneath 
her  breath  to  Jimbo.  'She's  even  bigger  than 
Mother.     Quelle  masse  !  ' 

Then  came  a  thing  of  mystery  and  wonder  from 
the  sky.  A  flying  figure,  scattering  points  of  light 
through  the  darkness  like  grains  of  shining  sand, 
swooped  down  and  stood  beside  the  group. 

'  Oh,  Dustman,'  cried  the  guard,  '  give  her  of 
your  dust  and  put  her  to  sleep,  please.  She's  mak- 
ing noise  enough  to  bring  the  Interfering  Sun  above 
the  horizon  before  his  time.' 

Without  a  word  the  new  arrival  passed  one  hand 
above  the  part  of  her  that  presumably  was  the  face. 
Something-  sifted  downwards.  There  was  a  sound 
of  gentle  sprinkling  through  the  air  ;  a  noise  fol- 
lowed that  was  half  a  groan  and  half  a  sigh.     Her 


ix  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        115 

struggles  grew  gradually  less,  then  ceased.  They 
pushed  the  bulk  of  her  backwards  through  the  door. 
Spread  over  many  seats  the  Woman  of  the  Haystack 
slept. 

*  Thank  you,'  said  several  voices  with  relief. 
'She'll  dream  she's  been  in.     That's  just  as  good.' 

'  Every  bit,'  the  others  answered,  resuming  their 
interrupted  journey  towards  the  cavern's  mouth. 

1  And  when  I  come  out  she  shall  have  some 
more,'  answered  the  Dustman  in  a  soft,  thick  voice ; 
'as  much  as  ever  she  can  use.' 

He  flitted  in  his  turn  towards  the  stream  of  gold. 
His  feet  were  already  in  it  when  he  paused  a  moment 
to  shift  from  one  shoulder  to  the  other  a  great  sack 
he  carried.  And  in  that  moment  was  heard  a  low 
voice  singing  dreamily  the  Dustman's  curious  little 
song.  It  seemed  to  come  from  the  direction  of 
the  train  where  the  Guard  stood  talking  to  a  man 
the  children  had  not  noticed  before.  Presumably 
he  was  the  engine-driver,  since  all  the  passengers 
were  out  now.  But  it  may  have  been  the  old 
Dustman  himself  who  sang  it.  They  could  not  tell 
exactly.  The  voice  made  them  quite  drowsy  as  they 
listened  : — 

The  busy  Dustman  flutters  down  the  lanes, 
He's  off"  to  gather  star-dust  for  our  dreams. 

He  dusts  the  Constellations  for  his  sack, 

Finding  it  thickest  on  the  Zodiac, 

But  sweetest  in  the  careless  meteor's  track  ; 

That  he  keeps  only 

For  the  old  and  lonely, 

(And  is  very  strict  about  it  !) 
Who  sleep  so  little  that  they  need  the  best ; 

The  rest, — 

The  common  stuff", — 

Is,  good  enough 


n6        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

For  Fraulein,  or  for  Baby,  or  for  Mother, 
Or  any  other 
Who  likes  a  bit  of  dust, 
But  yet  can  do  without  it 
If  they  must ! 

The  busy  Dustman  hurries  through  the  sky 
The  kind  old  Dustman's  coming  to  your  eye  ! 

By  the  time  the  song  was  over  he  had  disappeared 
through  the  opening. 

'  I'll  show  'em  the  real  stuff ! '  came  back,  a  voice 
— this  time  certainly  his  own — far  inside  now. 

'  I  simply  love  that  man,'  exclaimed  Monkey. 
'  Songs  are  usually  such  twiddly  things,  but  that  was 
real.'  She  looked  as  though  a  somersault  were  im- 
minent. c  If  only  Daddy  knew  him,  he'd  learn  how 
to  write  unwumbled  stories.  Oh !  we  must  get 
Daddy  out.' 

'  It's  only  the  head  that  sticks,'  was  her  brother's 
reply.     '  We'll  grease  it.' 

They  remained  silent  a  moment,  not  knowing 
what  to  do  next,  when  they  became  aware  that  the 
big  man  who  had  been  talking  to  the  Guard  was 
coming  towards  them. 

'  They've  seen  us ! '  she  whispered  in  alarm. 
'  He  s  seen  us.'     An  inexplicable  thrill  ran  over  her. 

'  They  saw  us  long  ago,'  her  brother  added  con- 
temptuously.    His  voice  quavered. 

Jimbo  turned  to  face  them,  getting  in  front  of  his 
sister  for  protection,  although  she  towered  above  him 
by  a  head  at  least.  The  Guard,  who  led  the  way, 
they  saw  now,  was  a  girl — a  girl  not  much  older  than 
Monkey,  with  big  blue  eyes.  '  There  they  are,'  the 
Guard  said  loudly,  pointing  ;  and  the  big  man,  look- 
ing about  him  as  though  he  did  not  see  very  clearly, 
stretched   out   his   hands    towards   him.      '  But   you 


ix  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        117 

must  be  very  quick,'  she  added,  '  the  Interfering 
Sun ' 

'  I'm  glad  you  came  to  meet  us.  I  hoped  you 
might.  Jane  Anne's  gone  in  ages  ago.  Now  we'll 
all  go  in  together,'  he  said  in  a  deep  voice,  '  and 
gather  star-dust  for  our  dreams  .  .  .'  He  groped 
to  find  them.  His  hands  grew  shadowy.  He  felt 
the  empty  air. 

His  voice  died  away  even  as  he  said  it,  and  the 
difficulty  he  had  in  seeing  seemed  to  affect  their  own 
eyes  as  well.  A  mist  rose.  It  turned  to  darkness. 
The  river  of  starlight  faded.  The  net  had  suddenly 
big  holes  in  it.  They  were  slipping  through.  Wind 
whispered  in  the  trees.  There  was  a  sharp,  odd 
sound  like  the  plop  of  a  water-rat  in  a  pond.  .  .   . 

'  We  must  be  quick,'  his  voice  came  faintly  from 
far  away.  They  just  had  time  to  see  his  smile,  and 
noticed  the  gleam  of  two  gold  teeth.  .  .  .  Then 
the  darkness  rushed  up  and  covered  them.  The 
stream  of  tangled,  pouring  beams  became  a  narrow 
line,  so  far  away  it  was  almost  like  the  streak  of  a 
meteor  in  the  sky.  .  .  .  Night  hid  the  world  and 
everything  in  it.   .   .   . 

Two  radiant  little  forms  slipped  past  Riquette  and 
slid  feet  first  into  the  sleeping  bodies  on  the  beds. 

There  came  soon  after  a  curious  sound  from  the 
outer  room,  as  Mother  turned  upon  her  sofa-bed  and 
woke.  The  sun  was  high  above  the  Blumlisalp, 
spreading  a  sheet  of  gold  and  silver  on  the  lake. 
Birds  were  singing  in  the  plane  trees.  The  roof 
below  the  open  windows  shone  with  dew,  and  draughts 
of  morning  air,  sweet  and  fresh,  poured  into  the  room. 
With  it  came  the  scent  of  flowers  and  forests,  of 
fields  and  peaty  smoke  from  cottage  chimneys.   .  .  . 

But  there  was  another  perfume  too.     Far  down 


n8        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

the  sky  swept  some  fleet  and  sparkling  thing  that 
made  the  world  look  different.  It  was  delicate  and 
many-tinted,  soft  as  a  swallow's  wing,  and  full  of 
butterflies  and  tiny  winds. 

For,  with  the  last  stroke  of  midnight  from  the 
old  church  tower,  May  had  waked  April  ;  and  April 
had  run  off  into  the  mountains  with  the  dawn.  Her 
final  shower  of  tears  still  shone  upon  the  ground. 
Already  May  was  busy  drying  them. 

That  afternoon,  when  school  was  over,  Monkey 
and  Jimbo  found  themselves  in  the  attics  underneath 
the  roof  together.  They  had  abstracted  their  father's 
opera-glasses  from  the  case  that  hung  upon  the  door, 
and  were  using  them  as  a  telescope. 

'What  can  you  see?'  asked  Jimbo,  waiting  for 
his  turn,  as  they  looked  towards  the  hazy  mountains 
behind  the  village. 

'  Nothing.' 

'  That  must  be  the  opening,  then,'  he  suggested, 
'just  air.' 

His  sister  lowered  the  glasses  and  stared  at  him. 
'  But  it  can't  be  a  real  place  ?  '  she  said,  the  doubt  in 
her  tone  making  her  words  a  question.  '  Daddy's 
never  been  there  himself,  I'm  sure — from  the  way  he 
told  it.     You  only  dreamed  it.' 

'  Well,  anyhow,'  was  the  reply  with  conviction, 
'  it's  there,  so  there  must  be  somebody  who  believes  in 
it.'  And  he  was  evidently  going  to  add  that  he  had 
been  there,  when  Mother's  voice  was  heard  calling 
from  the  yard  below,  '  Come  down  from  that 
draughty  place.  It's  dirty,  and  there  are  dead  rats 
in  it.  Come  out  and  play  in  the  sunshine.  Try  and 
be  sensible  like  Jinny.' 

They  smuggled  the  glasses  into  their  case  again, 


ix  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        119 

and  went  off  to  the  woods  to  play.  Though  their 
union  seemed  based  on  disagreements  chiefly  they 
were  always  quite  happy  together  like  this,  living  in 
a  world  entirely  their  own.  Jinny  went  her  own 
way  apart  always — ever  busy  with  pots  and  pans  and 
sewing.  She  was  far  too  practical  and  domestic  for 
their  tastes  to  amalgamate  ;  yet,  though  they  looked 
down  upon  her  a  little,  no  one  in  their  presence  could 
say  a  word  against  her.  For  they  recognised  the 
child's  unusual  selflessness,  and  rather  stood  in  awe 
of  it. 

And  this  afternoon  in  the  woods  they  kept  coming 
across  places  that  seemed  oddly  familiar,  although 
they  had  never  visited  them  before.  They  had  one  of 
their  curious  conversations  about  the  matter — queer 
talks  they  indulged  in  sometimes  when  quite  alone. 
Mother  would  have  squelched  such  talk,  and  Daddy 
muddled  them  with  long  words,  while  Jane  Anne 
would  have  looked  puzzled  to  the  point  of  tears. 

'  I'm  sure  I've  been  here  before,'  said  Monkey, 
looking  across  the  trees  to  a  place  where  the  lime- 
stone cliffs  dropped  in  fantastic  shapes  of  pointed 
rock.      '  Have  you  got  that  feeling  too  ? ' 

Jimbo,  with  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his  blue 
reefer  overcoat  and  his  feet  stuck  wide  apart,  stared 
hard  at  her  a  moment.  His  little  mind  was  search- 
ing too. 

'  It's  natural  enough,  I  suppose,'  he  answered,  too 
honest  to  pretend,  too  proud,  though,  to  admit  he 
had  not  got  it. 

They  were  rather  breathless  with  their  climb,  and 
sat  down  on  a  boulder  in  the  shade. 

'  I  know  all  this  awfully  well,'  Monkey  presently 
resumed,  looking  about  her.  '  But  certainly  we've 
never  come  as  far  as  this.     I  think  my  underneath 


120        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND 


CHAP. 


escapes  and  comes  to  places  by  itself.  I  feel  like 
that.     Does  yours  ? ' 

He  looked  up  from  a  bundle  of  moss  he  was 
fingering.     This  was  rather  beyond  him. 

'Oh,  I  feel  all  right,'  he  said,  'just  ordinary.' 
He  would  have  given  his  ten  francs  in  the  savings 
bank,  the  collection  of  a  year,  to  have  answered 
otherwise.  'You're  always  getting  tummy- aches 
and  things,'  he  added  kindly.  '  Girls  do.'  It  was 
pride  that  made  the  sharp  addition.  But  Monkey 
was  not  hurt ;  she  did  not  even  notice  what  he  said. 
The  insult  thus  ignored  might  seem  almost  a  com- 
pliment Jimbo  thought  with  quick  penitence. 

'  Then,  perhaps,'  she  continued,  more  than  a  little 
thrilled  by  her  own  audacity,  c  it's  somebody  else's 
thinking.  Thinking  skips  about  the  world  like  any- 
thing, you  know.  I  read  it  once  in  one  of  Daddy's 
books.' 

1  Oh,  yes — like  that * 

'  Thinking  hard  does  make  things  true,  of  course,' 
she  insisted. 

'  But  you  can't  exactly  see  them,'  he  put  in,  to 
explain  his  own  inexperience.  He  felt  jealous  of 
these  privileges  she  claimed.  '  They  can't  last,  I 
mean.' 

'  But  they  can't  be  wiped  out  either,'  she  said 
decidedly.     '  I'm  sure  of  that.' 

Presently  they  scrambled  higher  and  found  among 
the  rocks  an  opening  to  a  new  cave.  The  Jura 
mountains  are  riddled  with  caves  which  the  stalac- 
tites turn  into  palaces  and  castles.  The  entrance 
was  rather  small,  and  they  made  no  attempt  to  crawl 
in,  for  they  knew  that  coming  out  again  was  often 
very  difficult.  But  there  was  great  excitement  about 
it,  and  while  Monkey  kept  repeating  that  she  knew 


IX 


A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        121 


it  already,  or  else  had  seen  a  picture  of  it  somewhere, 
Jimbo  went  so  far  as  to  admit  that  they  had  certainly 
found  it  very  easily,  while  suggesting  that  the  rare 
good  fortune  was  due  rather  to  his  own  leadership 
and  skill. 

But  when  they  came  home  to  tea,  full  of  the  glory 
of  their  discovery,  they  found  that  a  new  excitement 
made  the  announcement  fall  a  little  flat.  For  in  the 
Den,  Daddy  read  a  telegram  he  had  just  received 
from  England  to  say  that  Cousin  Henry  was  coming 
out  to  visit  them  for  a  bit.  His  room  had  already 
been  engaged  at  the  carpenter's  house.  He  would 
arrive  at  the  end  of  the  week. 

It  was  the  first  of  May  1 


CHAPTER   X 

One  ot  the  great   facts  of  the  world  I  hold   to  be  the  registration  in  the 
Universe  of  every  past  scene  and  thought. 

F.  W.  M. 

No  place  worth  knowing  yields  itself  at  sight,  and 
those  the  least  inviting  on  first  view  may  leave  the 
most  haunting  pictures  upon  the  walls  of  memory. 

This  little  village,  that  Henry  Rogers  was  thus 
to  revisit  after  so  long  an  interval,  can  boast  no 
particular  outstanding  beauty  to  lure  the  common 
traveller.  Its  single  street  winds  below  the  pine 
forest ;  its  tiny  church  gathers  close  a  few  brown- 
roofed  houses  ;  orchards  guard  it  round  about ;  the 
music  of  many  fountains  tinkle  summer  and  winter 
through  its  cobbled  yards ;  and  its  feet  are  washed 
by  a  tumbling  stream  that  paints  the  fields  with  the 
radiance  of  countless  wild-flowers  in  the  spring. 

But  tourists  never  come  to  see  them.  There  is 
no  hotel,  for  one  thing,  and  ticket  agents,  even  at 
the  railway  stations,  look  puzzled  a  moment  before 
they  realise  where  this  place  with  the  twinkling  name 
can  hide.  .  .  .  Some  consult  books.  Yet,  once  you 
get  there,  it  is  not  easy  to  get  away  again.  Some- 
thing catches  the  feet  and  ears  and  eyes.  People 
have  been  known  to  go  with  all  their  luggage  on 
Gygi's  handcart  to  the  station — then  turn  aside  at 
the  last  moment,  caught  back  by  the  purple  woods. 

A  traveller,  glancing  up  at  the  little  three-storey 

122 


ch.x       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        123 

house  with  '  Poste  et  Telegraphe  '  above  the  door, 
could  never  guess  how  busy  the  world  that  came 
and  went  beneath  its  red-tiled  roof.  In  spring  the 
wistaria  tree  (whence  the  Pension  borrowed  its  brave 
name,  Les  Glycines)  hangs  its  blossoms  between 
*  Poste  '  and  '  Telegraphe,'  and  the  perfume  of  invisible 
lilacs  drenches  the  street  from  the  garden  at  the  back. 
Beyond,  the  road  dips  past  the  bee-hives  of  la  cure  ; 
and  Boudry  towers  with  his  five  thousand  feet  of 
blue  pine  woods  over  the  horizon.  The  tinkling  of 
several  big  stone  fountains  fills  the  street. 

But  the  traveller  would  not  linger,  unless  he 
chanced  to  pass  at  twelve  o'clock  and  caught  the 
stream  of  people  going  into  their  mid-day  dinner  at 
the  Pension.  And  even  then  he  probably  would  not 
see  the  presiding  genius,  Madame  Jequier,  for  as 
often  as  not  she  would  be  in  her  garden,  busy  with 
eternal  bulbs,  and  so  strangely  garbed  that  if  she 
showed  herself  at  all,  it  would  be  with  a  shrill,  plaintive 
explanation — '  Mais  il  ne  faut  pas  me  regarder.  Je 
suis  invisible  ! '  Whereupon,  consistently,  she  would 
not  speak  again,  but  flit  in  silence  to  and  fro,  as  though 
she  were  one  of  those  spirits  she  so  firmly  believed  in, 
and  sometimes  talked  to  by  means  of  an  old  Planchette. 

And  on  this  particular  morning  the  Widow  Jequier 
was  'invisible'  in  her  garden  clothes  as  Gygi,  the 
gendarme,  came  down  the  street  to  ring  the  midi 
bell.  Her  mind  was  black  with  anxiety.  She  was 
not  thinking  of  the  troop  that  came  to  dejeuner^ 
their  principal  meal  of  the  day,  paying  a  franc  for  it, 
but  rather  of  the  violent  scenes  with  unpaid  trades- 
men that  had  filled  the  morning — tradesmen  who 
were  friends  as  well  (which  made  it  doubly  awkward) 
and  often  dropped  in  socially  for  an  evening's  music 
and  conversation.     Her  pain  darkened  the  sunshine, 


i24        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

and  she  found  relief  in  the  garden  which  was  her 
passion.  For  in  three  weeks  the  interest  on  the  mort- 
gages was  due,  and  she  had  nothing  saved  to  meet  it. 
The  official  notice  had  come  that  morning  from  the 
Bank.  Her  mind  was  black  with  confused  pictures 
of  bulbs,  departed  pensionnaires,  hostile  bankers,  and 
— the  ghastly  chariti  de  la  Commune  which  awaited 
her.  Yet  her  husband,  before  he  went  into  the  wine- 
business  so  disastrously,  had  been  pasteur  here.  He 
had  preached  from  this  very  church  whose  bells 
now  rang  out  the  mid-day  hour.  The  spirit  of 
her  daughter,  she  firmly  believed,  still  haunted  the 
garden,  the  narrow  passages,  and  the  dilapidated  little 
salon  where  the  ivy  trailed  along  the  ceiling. 

Twelve  o'clock,  striking  from  the  church- tower 
clock,  and  the  voice  of  her  sister  from  the  kitchen 
window,  then  brought  the  Widow  Jequier  down  the 
garden  in  a  flying  rush.  The  table  was  laid  and  the 
soup  was  almost  ready.  The  people  were  coming 
in.  She  was  late  as  usual  ;  there  was  no  time  to 
change.  She  flung  her  garden  hat  aside  and  scrambled 
into  more  presentable  garments,  while  footsteps 
already  sounded  on  the  wooden  stairs  that  led  up 
from  the  village  street. 

One  by  one  the  retired  governesses  entered,  hung 
their  cloaks  upon  the  pegs  in  the  small,  dark  hallway, 
and  took  their  places  at  the  table.  They  began  talk- 
ing among  themselves,  exchanging  the  little  gossip 
of  the  village,  speaking  of  their  books  and  clothes  and 
sewing,  of  the  rooms  in  which  they  lived,  scattered 
down  the  street,  of  the  heating,  of  barking  dogs  that 
disturbed  their  sleep,  the  behaviour  of  the  postman, 
the  fine  spring  weather,  and  the  views  from  their 
respective  windows  across  the  lake  and  distant  Alps. 
Each  extolled  her  own  position  :  one  had  a  garden  ; 


x  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        125 

another  a  balcony  ;  a  third  was  on  the  top  floor  and 
so  had  no  noisy  tenant  overhead  ;  a  fourth  was  on 
the  ground,  and  had  no  stairs  to  climb.  Each  had 
her  secret  romance,  and  her  secret  method  of  cheap 
feeding  at  home.  There  were  five  or  six  of  them, 
and  this  was  their  principal  meal  in  the  day  ;  they 
meant  to  make  the  most  of  it ;  they  always  did  ; 
they  went  home  to  light  suppers  of  tea  and  coffee, 
made  in  their  own  appartements.  Invitations  were 
issued  and  accepted.  There  were  some  who  would 
not  speak  to  each  other.  Cliques,  divisions,  societes 
a  part,  existed  in  the  little  band.  And  they  talked 
many  languages,  learned  in  many  lands — Russian, 
German,  Italian,  even  Armenian — for  all  had  laboured 
far  from  their  country,  spending  the  best  of  their 
years  teaching  children  of  foreign  families,  many  of 
them  in  important  houses.  They  lived  upon  their 
savings.  Two,  at  least,  had  less  than  thirty  pounds 
a  year  between  them  and  starvation,  and  all  were  of 
necessity  careful  of  every  centime.  They  wore  the 
same  dresses  from  one  year's  end  to  another.  They 
had  come  home  to  die. 

The  Postmaster  entered  with  the  cash-box  under- 
neath one  arm.  He  bowed  gravely  to  the  assembled 
ladies,  and  silently  took  his  seat  at  the  table.  He 
never  spoke  ;  at  meals  his  sole  remarks  were  state- 
ments :  '  Je  n'ai  pas  de  pain,'  '  II  me  manque  une 
serviette,'  and  the  like,  while  his  black  eyes  glared 
resentfully  at  every  one  as  though  they  had  done  him 
an  injury.  But  his  fierceness  was  only  in  the  eyes. 
He  was  a  meek  and  solemn  fellow  really.  Nature 
had  dressed  him  in  black,  and  he  respected  her  taste 
by  repeating  it  in  his  clothes.  Even  his  expression 
was  funereal,  though  his  black  eyes  twinkled. 

The  servant-girl  at  once  brought  in  his  plate  of 


126        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

soup,  and  he  tucked  the  napkin  beneath  his  chin 
and  began  to  eat.  From  twelve  to  two  the  post  was 
closed  ;  his  recreation  time  was  precious,  and  no 
minute  must  be  lost.  After  dinner  he  took  his  coat 
off  and  did  the  heavy  work  of  the  garden,  under  the 
merciless  oversight  of  the  Widow  Jequier,  his  sister- 
in-law,  the  cash-box  ever  by  his  side.  He  chatted 
with  his  tame  corbeau,  but  he  never  smiled.  In  the 
winter  he  did  fretwork.  On  the  stroke  of  two  he 
went  downstairs  again  and  disappeared  into  the 
cramped  and  stuffy  bureau,  whose  window  on  the 
street  was  framed  by  the  hanging  wistaria  blossoms  ; 
and  at  eight  o'clock  his  day  of  labour  ended.  He 
carried  the  cash-box  up  to  bed  at  8.15.  At  8.30 
his  wife  followed  him.      From  nine  to  five  he  slept. 

Alone  of  all  the  little  household  the  Widow  Jequier 
scorned  routine.  She  came  and  went  with  the  un- 
certainty of  wind.  Her  entrances  and  exits,  too, 
were  like  the  wind.  With  a  scattering  rush  she 
scurried  through  the  years — noisy,  ineffective,  yet 
somewhere  fine.  Her  brother  had  finished  his  plate 
of  soup,  wiped  his  black  moustaches  elaborately,  and 
turned  his  head  towards  the  kitchen  door  with  the 
solemn  statement  '  Je  n'ai  pas  de  viande,'  when  she 
descended  upon  the  scene  like  a  shrill-voiced  little 
tempest. 

'  Bonjour  Mesdames,  bonjour  Mademoiselle,  bon- 
jour,  bonjour,'  she  bowed  and  smiled,  washing  her 
hands  in  the  air  ;  '  et  comment  allez-vous  ce  matin  ? ' 
as  the  little  band  of  hungry  governesses  rose  with 
one  accord  and  moved  to  take  their  places.  Some 
smiled  in  answer  ;  others  merely  bowed.  She  made 
enemies  as  well  as  friends,  the  Widow  Jequier.  With 
only  one  of  them  she  shook  hands  warmly — the  one 
whose  payments  were  long  overdue.     But  Madame 


x  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        127 

Jequier  never  asked  for  her  money  ;  she  knew  the 
old  body's  tiny  income  ;  she  would  pay  her  when 
she  could.  Only  last  week  she  had  sent  her  food 
and  clothing  under  the  guise  of  a  belated  little  Easter 
present.     Her  heart  was  bigger  than  her  body. 

'  La  famille  Anglaise  n'est  pas  encore  ici,'  announced 
the  Postmaster  as  though  it  were  a  funeral  to  come. 
He  did  not  even  look  up.  His  protests  passed  ever 
unobserved. 

'  But  I  hear  them  coming/  said  a  governess, 
swallowing  her  soup  with  a  sound  of  many  waters. 
And,  true  enough,  they  came.  There  was  a  thunder 
on  the  stairs,  the  door  into  the  hall  flew  open,  voices 
and  laughter  filled  the  place,  and  Jimbo  and  Monkey 
raced  in  to  take  their  places,  breathless,  rosy,  voluble, 
and  very  hungry.  Jane  Anne  followed  sedately, 
bowing  to  every  one  in  turn.  She  had  a  little  sen- 
tence for  all  who  cared  for  one.  Smiles  appeared  on 
every  face.  Mother,  like  a  frigate  coming  to  anchor 
with  a  favourable  wind,  sailed  into  her  chair  ;  and 
behind  her  stumbled  Daddy,  looking  absent-minded 
and  pre-occupied.  Money  was  uncommonly  scarce 
just  then — the  usual  Bourcelles  complaint. 

Conversation  in  many  tongues,  unmusically  high- 
pitched,  then  at  once  broke  loose,  led  ever  by  la 
patronne  at  the  head  of  the  table.  The  big  dishes 
of  meat  and  vegetables  were  handed  round  ;  plates 
were  piled  and  smothered  ;  knives  and  forks  were 
laid  between  mouthfuls  upon  plate-edges,  forming  a 
kind  of  frieze  all  round  the  cloth  ;  the  gossip  of  the 
village  was  retailed  with  harmless  gusto.  Dijeuner 
at  Les  Glycines  was  in  full  swing.  When  the  apples 
and  oranges  came  round,  most  of  the  governesses 
took  two  apiece,  slipping  one  or  other  into  little  black 
velvet  bags  they  carried  on  their  laps  below  the  table. 


128        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

Some,  it  was  whispered,  put  bread  there  too  to  keep 
them  company.  But  this  was  probably  a  libel. 
Madame  Jequier,  at  any  rate,  never  saw  it  done.  She 
looked  the  other  way.  '  We  all  must  live,'  was  her 
invariable  answer  to  such  foolish  stories.  '  One  can- 
not sleep  if  one's  supper  is  too  light.'  Like  her 
body,  her  soul  was  a  bit  untidy — careless,  that  is,  with 
loose  ends.  Who  would  have  guessed,  for  instance, 
the  anxiety  that  just  now  gnawed  her  very  entrails  ? 
She  was  a  mixture  of  shameless  egotism,  and  of 
burning  zeal  for  others.  There  was  a  touch  of 
grandeur  in  her. 

At  the  end  of  the  table,  just  where  the  ivy  leaves 
dropped  rather  low  from  their  trailing  journey  across 
the  ceiling,  sat  Miss  Waghorn,  her  vigorous  old  face 
wrapped,  apparently,  in  many  apple  skins.  She  was 
well  past  seventy,  thin,  erect,  and  active,  with  restless 
eyes,  and  hooked  nose,  the  poor  old  hands  knotted 
with  rheumatism,  yet  the  voice  somehow  retaining 
the  energy  of  forty.  Her  manners  were  charming 
and  old-fashioned,  and  she  came  of  Quaker  stock. 
Seven  years  before  she  arrived  at  the  Pension  for  the 
summer,  and  had  forgotten  to  leave.  For  she  forgot 
most  things  within  ten  minutes  of  their  happening. 
Her  memory  was  gone  ;  she  remembered  a  face,  as 
most  other  things  as  well,  about  twenty  minutes  ; 
introductions  had  to  be  repeated  every  day,  and 
sometimes  at  supper  she  would  say  with  her  gentle 
smile,  '  We  haven't  met  before,  I  think,'  to  some  one 
she  had  held  daily  intercourse  with  for  many  months. 
'I  was  born  in  '37,' she  loved  to  add,  'the  year  of 
Queen  Victoria's  accession  '  ;  and  five  minutes  later 
you  might  hear  her  ask,  '  Now,  guess  how  old  I  am  ; 
I  don't  mind  a  bit.'  She  was  as  proud  of  her  load  of 
years  as  an  old  gentleman  of  his  thick  hair.     '  Say 


x  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        129 

exactly  what  you  think.     And  don't  guess  too  low, 
mind.'      Her  numerous  stories  were  self-repeaters. 

Miss  Waghorn's  memory  was  a  source  of  worry 
and  anxiety  to  all  except  the  children,  who  mercilessly 
teased  her.  She  loved  the  teasing,  though  but  half 
aware  of  it.  It  was  their  evil  game  to  extract  as 
many  of  her  familiar  stories  as  possible,  one  after 
another.  They  knew  all  the  clues.  There  was  the 
Cornishman — she  came  from  Cornwall — who  had  seen 
a  fairy  ;  his  adventure  never  failed  to  thrill  them, 
though  she  used  the  same  words  every  time  and  they 
knew  precisely  what  was  coming.  She  was  particu- 
larly strong  on  family  reminiscences  : — her  father  was 
bald  at  thirty  ,  her  brother's  beard  was  so  long  that 
he  tied  it  round  his  neck  when  playing  cricket  ;  her 
sister  l  had  the  shortest  arms  you  ever  saw.'  Always 
of  youth  she  spoke  ;  it  was  pathetic,  so  determined 
was  she  to  be  young  at  seventy.  Her  family  seemed 
distinguished  in  this  matter  of  extremes. 

But  the  superiority  of  Cornish  over  Devonshire 
cream  was  her  piece  de  resistance.  Monkey  need 
merely  whisper — Miss  Waghorn's  acuteness  of  hear- 
ing was  positively  uncanny — '  Devonshire  cream  is 
what  /  like,'  to  produce  a  spurt  of  explanation  and 
defence  that  lasted  a  good  ten  minutes  and  must  be 
listened  to  until  the  bitter  end. 

Jimbo  would  gravely  inquire  in  a  pause — of  a 
stranger,  if  possible,  if  not,  of  the  table  in  general — 

'  Have  you  ever  seen  a  fairy  ? ' 

'  No,  but  I've  eaten  Cornish  cream — it's  poison, 
you  know,'  Monkey  would  reply.  And  up  would 
shoot  the  keen  old  face,  preened  for  the  fray. 

'We  haven't  been  introduced,  I  think' — forgetting 
the  formal  introduction  of  ten  minutes  ago — '  but  I 
overheard,  if  you'll  forgive  my  interrupting,  and  I 

K 


130        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

can  tell  you  all  about  Cornish  cream.  I  was  born  in 
'37' — with  her  eager  smile — 'and  for  years  it  was 
on  our  table.  I  have  made  quantities  of  it.  The 
art  was  brought  first  by  the  Phoenicians ' 

'Venetians,'  said  Monkey. 

'  No,  Phoenicians,  dear,  when  they  came  to  Corn- 
wall for  tin ' 

'  To  put  the  cream  in,'  from  the  same  source. 

'  No,  you  silly  child,  to  get  tin  from  the  mines,  of 
course,  and ' 

Then  Mother  or  Daddy,  noting  the  drift  of  things, 
would  interfere,  and  the  youngsters  would  be  obliter- 
ated— until  next  time.  Miss  Waghorn  would  finish 
her  recital  for  the  hundredth  time,  firmly  believing  it 
to  be  the  first.  She  was  a  favourite  with  everybody, 
in  spite  of  the  anxiety  she  caused.  She  would  go 
into  town  to  pay  her  bill  at  the  bootmaker's,  and 
order  another  pair  of  boots  instead,  forgetting  why 
she  came.  Her  income  was  sixty  pounds  a  year. 
She  forgot  in  the  afternoon  the  money  she  had 
received  in  the  morning,  till  at  last  the  Widow  Jequier 
seized  it  for  her  the  moment  it  arrived.  And  at  night 
she  would  doze  in  her  chair  over  the  paper  novel  she 
had  been  "  at  "  for  a  year  and  more,  beginning  it 
every  night  afresh,  and  rarely  getting  beyond  the 
opening  chapter.  For  it  was  ever  new.  All  were 
anxious,  though,  what  she  would  do  next.  She  was 
so  full  of  battle. 

Everybody  talked  at  once,  but  forced  conversation 
did  not  flourish.  Bourcelles  was  not  fashionable  ; 
no  one  ever  had  appendicitis  there.  Yet  ailments  of 
a  milder  order  were  the  staple,  inexhaustible  subjects 
at  meals.  Instead  of  the  weather,  mon  estomac  was  the 
inexhaustible  tale.  The  girl  brought  in  the  little 
Cantonal  newspaper,  and  the  widow  read  out  selections 


x  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        131 

in  a  high,  shrill  voice,  regardless  who  listened.  Mis- 
fortunes and  accidents  were  her  preference.  Grand  del 
and  quelle  horreur  punctuated  the  selections.  '  There's 
Tante  Jeanne  grand-cieling  as  usual,'  Mother  would 
say  to  her  husband,  who,  being  a  little  deaf,  would 
answer, '  What  ?  '  and  Tante  Jeanne,  overhearing  him, 
would  re-read  the  accident  for  his  especial  benefit, 
while  the  governesses  recounted  personal  experiences 
among  themselves,  and  Miss  Waghorn  made  eager 
efforts  to  take  part  in  it  all,  or  tell  her  little  tales  of 
fairies  and  Cornish  cream.   .   .   . 

One  by  one  the  governesses  rose  to  leave  ;  each 
made  a  comprehensive  bow  that  included  the  entire 
company.  Daddy  lit  a  cigarette  or  let  Jimbo  light  it 
for  him,  too  wumbled  with  his  thoughts  of  afternoon 
work  to  notice  the  puff  stolen  surreptitiously  on  the 
way.  Jane  Anne  folded  her  napkin  carefully,  talking 
with  Mother  in  a  low  voice  about  the  packing  of 
the  basket  with  provisions  for  tea.  Tea  was  included 
in  the  Pension  terms  ;  in  a  small  clothes-basket  she 
carried  bread,  milk,  sugar,  and  butter  daily  across  to 
La  Citadelle,  except  on  Sundays  when  she  wore  gloves 
and  left  the  duty  to  the  younger  children  who  were 
less  particular. 

The  governesses,  charged  with  life  for  another 
twenty-four  hours  at  least,  flocked  down  the  creaking 
stairs.  They  nodded  as  they  passed  the  Bureau 
window  where  the  Postmaster  pored  over  his  collec- 
tion of  stamps,  or  examined  a  fretwork  pattern  of  a 
boy  on  a  bicycle — there  was  no  heavy  garden  work 
that  day — and  went  out  into  the  street.  They  stood 
in  knots  a  moment,  discussing  unfavourably  the  food 
just  eaten,  and  declaring  they  would  stand  it  no 
longer.  *  Only  where  else  can  we  go  ? '  said  one, 
feeling  automatically  at  her  velvet  bag  to  make  sure 


132        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

the  orange  was  safely  in  it.  Upstairs,  at  the  open 
window,  Madame  Jequier  overheard  them  as  she 
filled  the  walnut  shells  with  butter  for  the  birds. 
She  only  smiled. 

'  I  wish  we  could  help  her,'  Mother  was  saying  to 
her  husband,  as  they  watched  her  from  the  sofa  in 
the  room  behind.  '  A  more  generous  creature  never 
lived.'  It  was  a  daily  statement  that  lacked  force 
owing  to  repetition,  yet  the  emotion  prompting  it 
was  ever  new  and  real. 

*  Or  a  more  feckless,'  was  his  reply.  'But  if  we 
ever  come  into  our  estates,  we  will.  It  shall  be  the 
first  thing.'  His  mind  always  hovered  after  those 
distant  estates  when  it  was  perplexed  by  immediate 
financial  difficulty,  and  just  now  he  was  thinking  of 
various  bills  and  payments  falling  due.  It  was  his 
own  sympathetic  link  with  the  widow — ways  and 
means,  and  the  remorseless  nature  of  sheets  of  paper 
with  columns  of  figures  underneath  the  horrible  word 
doit. 

'  So  Monsieur  'Enry  Rogairs  is  coming,'  she  said 
excitedly,  turning  to  them  a  moment  on  her  way  to 
the  garden.  '  And  after  all  these  years  !  He  will 
find  the  house  the  same,  and  the  garden  better — oh, 
wonderfully  improved.  But  us,  hilas  !  he  will  find 
old,  oh,  how  old  ! '  She  did  not  really  mean  herself, 
however. 

She  began  a  long  '  reminiscent '  chapter,  full  of 
details  of  the  days  when  he  and  Daddy  had  been  boys 
together,  but  in  the  middle  of  it  Daddy  just  got  up 
and  walked  out,  saying,  '  I  must  get  over  to  my  work, 
you  know.'  There  was  no  artificiality  of  manners  at 
Bourcelles.  Mother  followed  him,  with  a  trifle  more 
ceremony.  '  Ah,  c'est  partir  a  l'anglaise  !  '  sighed 
the  widow,  watching  them  go.     She  was  accustomed 


x  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        133 

to  it.  She  went  out  into  her  garden,  full  of  excite- 
ment at  the  prospect  of  the  new  arrival.  Every 
arrival  for  her  meant  a  possible  chance  of  help.  She 
was  as  young  as  her  latest  bulb  really.  Courage, 
hope,  and  generosity  invariably  go  together. 


CHAPTER   XI 

Take  him  and  cut  him  out  in  little  stars, 
And  he  will  make  the  face  of  heaven  so  fine 
That  all  the  world  will  be  in  love  with  night 
And  pay  no  worship  to  the  garish  sun  ! 

Romeo  and  Juliet. 

The  announcement  of  Henry  Rogers's  coming  was 
received — variously,  for  any  new  arrival  into  the 
Den  circle  was  subjected  to  rigorous  criticism.  This 
criticism  was  not  intentional  ;  it  was  the  instinctive 
judgment  that  children  pass  upon  everything,  object 
or  person,  likely  to  affect  themselves.  And  there  is 
no  severer  bar  of  judgment  in  the  world. 

'  Who  is  Cousinenry  ?  What  a  name !  Is  he 
stiff,  I  wonder  ? '  came  from  Monkey,  almost  before 
the  announcement  had  left  her  father's  lips.  '  What 
will  he  think  of  Tante  Jeanne  ? '  Her  little  torrent 
of  questions  that  prejudged  him  thus  never  called 
for  accurate  answers  as  a  rule,  but  this  time  she 
meant  to  have  an  answer.  '  What  is  he  exaccur- 
ately  ? '  she  added,  using  her  own  invention  made  up 
of  '  exact '  and  '  accurate.' 

Mother  looked  up  from  the  typewritten  letter  to 
reply,  but  before  she  could  say,  '  He's  your  father's 
cousin,  dear  ;  they  were  here  as  boys  twenty  years 
ago  to  learn  French,'  Jinny  burst  in  with  an  explo- 
sive interrogation.  She  had  been  reading  La  Bonne 
Minagere  in  a  corner.     Her   eyes,   dark  with   con- 

134 


ch.xi      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        135 

jecture,  searched  the  faces  of  both  parents  alternately. 
'  Excuse  me,  Mother,  but  is  he  a  clergyman  ?  '  she 
asked  with  a  touch  of  alarm. 

'  Whatever  makes  you  think  that,  child  ? ' 

'  Clergymen  are  always  called  the  reverundhenry. 
He'll  wear  black  and  have  socks  that  want  mending.' 

'  He  shouldn't  print  his  letters,'  declared  Monkey. 
1  He's  not  an  author,  is  he  ? ' 

Jimbo,  busy  over  school  tasks,  with  a  huge  slate- 
pencil  his  crumpled  fingers  held  like  a  walking-stick, 
watched  and  listened  in  silence.  He  was  ever  fearful, 
perhaps,  lest  his  superior  man's  knowledge  might  be 
called  upon  and  found  wanting.  Questions  poured 
and  crackled  like  grapeshot,  while  the  truth  slowly 
emerged  from  the  explanations  the  parents  were 
occasionally  permitted  to  interject.  The  personality 
of  Cousin  Henry  Rogers  grew  into  life  about  them 
— gradually.  The  result  was  a  curious  one  that 
Minks  would  certainly  have  resented  with  indigna- 
tion. For  Cousinenry  was,  apparently,  a  business 
man  with  pockets  full  of  sovereigns  ;  stern,  clever, 
and  important  ;  the  sort  of  man  that  gets  into 
Governments  and  things,  yet  somewhere  with  the 
flavour  of  the  clergyman  about  him.  This  clerical 
touch  was  Jane  Anne's  contribution  to  the  picture  ; 
and  she  was  certain  that  he  wore  silk  socks  of  the 
most  expensive  description — a  detail  she  had  read 
probably  in  some  chance  fragments  of  a  newspaper. 
For  Jinny  selected  phrases  in  this  way  from  any- 
where, and  repeated  them  on  all  occasions  without 
the  slightest  relevancy.  She  practised  them.  She 
had  a  way  of  giving  abrupt  information  and  making 
startling  statements  a  propos  of  nothing  at  all.  Cer- 
tain phrases  stuck  in  her  mind,  it  seemed,  for  no 
comprehensible    reason.     When    excited   she   picked 


136        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

out  the  one  that  first  presented  itself  and  fired  it  off 
like  a  gun,  the  more  inapt  the  better.  And  '  busy  ' 
was  her  favourite  adjective  always. 

'  It's  like  a  communication  from  a  company,' 
Mother  was  saying,  as  she  handed  back  the  type- 
written letter. 

'  Is  he  a  company  promoter  then  ? '  asked  Jinny 
like  a  flash,  certainly  ignorant  what  that  article  of 
modern  life  could  mean. 

1  Oh,  I  say  ! '  came  reproachfully  from  Jimbo, 
thus  committing  himself  for  the  first  time  to  speech. 
He  glanced  up  into  several  faces  round  him,  and  then 
continued  the  picture  of  Cousin  Henry  he  was  draw- 
ing on  his  slate.  He  listened  all  the  time.  Occa- 
sionally he  cocked  an  eye  or  ear  up.  He  took  in 
everything,  saying  little.  His  opinions  matured 
slowly.  The  talk  continued  for  a  long  time, 
questions  and  answers. 

'  I  think  he's  nice,'  he  announced  at  length  in 
French.  For  intimate  things,  he  always  used  that 
language  ;  his  English,  being  uncertain,  was  kept 
for  matters  of  unimportance.      'A  gentle  man.' 

And  it  was  Jimbo's  verdict  that  the  children 
then  finally  adopted.  Cousin  Henry  was  gen  til. 
They  laughed  loudly  at  him,  yet  agreed.  His 
influence  on  their  little  conclaves,  though  never 
volubly  expressed — because  of  that  very  fact,  perhaps 
— was  usually  accepted.  Jimbo  was  so  decided. 
And  he  never  committed  himself  to  impulsive  judg- 
ments that  later  had  to  be  revised.  He  listened  in 
silence  to  the  end,  then  went  plump  for  one  side  or 
the  other.  '  I  think  he'll  be  a  nice  man,'  was  the 
label,  therefore,  then  and  there  attached  to  Mr. 
Henry  Rogers  in  advance  of  delivery.  Further  than 
that,  however,  they  would  not  go.     It  would  have 


xi  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        137 

been  childish  to  commit  themselves  more  deeply  till 
they  saw  him. 

The  conversation  then  slipped  beyond  their  com- 
prehension, or  rather  their  parents  used  long  words 
and  circumventing  phrases  that  made  it  difficult  to 
follow.  Owing  to  lack  of  space,  matters  of  import- 
ance often  had  to  be  discussed  in  this  way  under  the 
children's  eyes,  unless  at  night,  when  all  were  safe  in 
bed  ;  for  French,  of  course,  was  of  no  avail  for 
purposes  of  concealment.  Long  words  were  then 
made  use  of,  dark,  wumbled  sentences  spoken  very 
quickly,  with  suggestive  gestures  and  expressions  of 
the  eyes  labelled  by  Monkey  with,  '  Look,  Mother 
and  Daddy  are  making  faces — something's  up  !  ' 

But,  none  the  less,  all  listened,  and  Monkey, 
whose  intuitive  intelligence  soaked  up  hidden  mean- 
ings like  a  sponge,  certainly  caught  the  trend  of 
what  was  said.  She  detailed  it  later  to  the  others, 
when  Jinny  checked  her  exposition  with  a  puzzled 
'  but  Mother  could  never  have  said  that,'  while  Jimbo 
looked  wise  and  grave,  as  though  he  had  understood 
it  all  along,  and  was  even  in  his  parents'  councils. 

On  this  occasion,  however,  there  was  nothing 
very  vital  to  retail.  Cousin  Henry  was  to  arrive 
to-morrow  by  the  express  from  Paris.  He  was  a 
little  younger  than  Daddy,  and  would  have  the  room 
above  him  in  the  carpenter's  house.  His  meals  he 
would  take  at  the  Pension  just  as  they  did,  and  for 
tea  he  would  always  come  over  to  the  Den.  And 
this  latter  fact  implied  that  he  was  to  be  admitted 
into  intimacy  at  once,  for  only  intimates  used  the 
Den  regularly  for  tea,  of  course. 

It  was  serious.  It  involved  a  change  in  all  their 
lives.  Jinny  wondered  if  it  '  would  cost  Daddy  any 
more  money,'  or  whether  '  Cousinenry  would  bring 


138        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

a  lot  of  things  with  him,'  though  not  explaining 
whether  by  '  things  '  she  meant  food  or  presents  or 
clothes.  He  was  not  married,  so  he  couldn't  be  very 
old  ;  and  Monkey,  suggesting  that  he  might  '  get  to 
love '  one  of  the  retired  governesses  who  came  to  the 
Pension  for  their  mid-day  dinner,  was  squelched  by 
Jimbo  with  '  old  governesses  never  marry  ;  they  come 
back  to  settle,  and  then  they  just  die  off.' 

Thus  was  Henry  Rogers  predigested.  But  at  any 
rate  he  was  accepted.  And  this  was  fortunate  ;  for 
a  new  arrival  whom  the  children  did  not  '  pass '  had 
been  known  to  have  a  time  that  may  best  be 
described  as  not  conducive  to  repose  of  body,  mind, 
or  spirit. 

The  arrival  of  Mr.  Henry  Rogers  in  the  village 
— in  La  Citadelle,  that  is — was  a  red-letter  day. 
This,  however,  seems  a  thin  description  of  its  glory. 
For  a  more  adequate  description  a  well-worn  phrase 
must  be  borrowed  from  the  poems  of  Montmorency 
Minks — a  '  Day  of  Festival,'  for  which  '  coronal ' 
invariably  lay  in  waiting  for  rhyming  purposes  a 
little  further  down  the  sonnet. 

Monkey  that  afternoon  managed  to  get  home 
earlier  than  usual  from  Neuchatel,  a  somewhat 
suspicious  explanation  as  her  passport.  Her  eyes 
were  popping.  Jimbo  was  always  out  of  the 
village  school  at  three.  He  carried  a  time-table 
in  his  pocket  ;  but  it  was  mere  pretence,  since  he 
was  a  little  walking  Bradshaw,  and  knew  every 
train  by  heart  —  the  Geneva  Express,  the  Paris 
Rapide,  the  '  omnibus  '  trains,  and  the  mountain  ones 
that  climbed  the  forest  heights  towards  La  Chaux  de 
Fonds  and  Le  Locle.  Of  these  latter  only  the  white 
puffing  smoke  was  visible  from  the  village,  but  he 


xi  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       139 

knew  with  accuracy  their  times  of  departure,  their 
arrival,  and  the  names  of  every  station  where  they 
stopped.  In  the  omnibus  trains  he  even  knew  some 
of  the  guards  personally,  the  engine-drivers  too. 
He  might  be  seen  any  day  after  school  standing  in 
the  field  beside  the  station,  waiting  for  them  to 
pass ;  mecanicien  and  conducteur  were  the  commonest 
words  in  his  whole  vocabulary.  When  possible  he 
passed  the  time  of  day  with  both  of  these  important 
personages,  or  from  the  field  he  waved  his  hand  and 
took  his  cap  off.  All  engines,  moreover,  were 
'  powerful  locomotives.'  The  phrase  was  stolen  from 
his  father — a  magnificent  sound  it  had,  taking  several 
seconds  to  pronounce.  No  day  was  wholly  lived  in 
vain  which  enabled  him  to  turn  to  some  one  with, 
'  There's  the  Paris  Rapide  ;  it's  five  minutes  late ';  or 
'  That's  the  Geneva  omnibus.  You  see,  it  has  to 
have  a  very  ' — here  a  deep  breath — '  powerful  loco- 
motive.' 

So  upon  this  day  of  festival  it  was  quite  useless 
to  talk  of  common  things,  and  even  the  holidays 
acquired  a  very  remote  importance.  Everybody  in 
the  village  knew  it.  From  Gygi,  the  solitary  gend- 
arme, to  Henri  Beguin,  who  mended  boots,  but  had 
the  greater  distinction  that  he  was  the  only  man  Gygi 
ever  arrested,  for  periodical  wild  behaviour — all  knew 
that  '  Cousin  Henry,  father's  cousin,  you  know,'  was 
expected  to  arrive  in  the  evening,  that  he  was  an 
important  person  in  the  life  of  London,  and  that 
he  was  not  exactly  a  pasteur,  yet  shared  something 
of  a  clergyman's  grave  splendour.  Clothed  in  a 
sacerdotal  atmosphere  he  certainly  was,  though  it 
was  the  gravity  of  Jane  Anne's  negative  descrip- 
tion that  fastened  this  wild  ecclesiastical  idea  upon 
him. 


i4o        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

'  He's  not  exactly  a  clergyman,'  she  told  the  dress- 
maker, who  for  two  francs  every  Monday  afternoon 
sat  in  the  kitchen  and  helped  with  the  pile  of  in- 
discriminate mending,  '  because  he  has  to  do  with 
rather  big  companies  and  things.  But  he  is  a  serious 
man  all  the  same — and  most  fearfully  busy  always.' 

1  We're  going  to  meet  him  in  the  town,'  said 
Jimbo  carelessly.  '  You  see,  the  Paris  Rapide 
doesn't  stop  here.  We  shall  come  back  with  him 
by  the  6.20.  It  gets  here  at  6.50,  so  he'll  be  in 
time  for  supper,  if  it's  punctual.     It  usually  is.' 

And  accordingly  they  went  to  Neuchatel  and 
met  the  Paris  train.  They  met  their  Cousin  Henry, 
too.  Powerful  locomotives  and  everything  else  were 
instantly  forgotten  when  they  saw  their  father  go  up 
to  a  tall  thin  man  who  jumped — yes,  jumped — down 
the  high  steps  on  to  the  level  platform  and  at  once 
began  to  laugh.  He  had  a  beard  like  their  father. 
'  How  will  they  know  which  is  which  ?'  thought  Jinny. 
They  stood  in  everybody's  way  and  stared.  He  was 
so  tall.  Daddy  looked  no  bigger  than  little  Beguin 
beside  him.  He  had  a  large,  hooked  nose,  brown 
skin,  and  keen  blue  eyes  that  took  in  everything  at  a 
single  glance.  They  twinkled  absurdly  for  so  big  a 
man.  He  wore  rough  brown  tweeds  and  a  soft  felt 
travelling  hat.  He  wore  also  square-toed  English 
boots.  He  carried  in  one  hand  a  shiny  brown  leather 
bag  with  his  initials  on  it  like  a  member  of  the 
Government. 

The  clergyman  idea  was  destroyed  in  a  fraction  of 
a  second,  never  to  revive.  The  company  promoter 
followed  suit.  Jinny  experienced  an  entirely  new 
sensation  in  her  life — something  none  but  herself 
had  ever  felt  before — something  romantic. 

'He's    like    a    soldier — a   General,'  she    said   to 


xi  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        141 

anybody  who  cared  to  listen,  and  she  said  it  so 
loudly  that  many  did  listen.  But  she  did  not  care 
She  stood  apart  trom  the  others,  staring  as  though 
it  were  a  railway  accident.  This  tall  figure  of  a 
cousin  she  could  fit  nowhere  as  yet  into  her  limited 
scheme  of  life.  She  admired  him  intensely.  Yet 
Daddy  laughed  and  chatted  with  him  as  if  he  were 
nothing  at  all  !  She  kept  outside  the  circle,  wonder- 
ing about  his  socks  and  underclothes.  His  beard  was 
much  neater  and  better  trimmed  than  her  father's. 
At  least  no  crumb  or  bit  of  cotton  was  in  it. 

But  Jimbo  felt  no  awe.  After  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion, during  which  the  passers-by  butted  him  this  way 
and  that,  he  marched  straight  up  and  looked  him  in 
the  face.     He  reached  to  his  watch-chain  only. 

'  I'll  be  your  sekrity,  too,'  he  announced,  inter- 
rupting Daddy's  foolishness  about  '  this  is  my 
youngest  lad,  Rogers.'     Youngest  lad  indeed  ! 

And  Henry  Rogers  then  stooped  and  kissed  the 
lot  of  them.  One  after  the  other  he  put  his  big 
arms  round  them  and  gave  them  a  hug  that  was 
like  the  hug  of  a  bear  standing  on  its  hind  legs. 
They  took  it,  each  in  his  own  way,  differently. 
Jimbo  proudly  ;  Monkey,  with  a  smacking  return 
kiss  that  somehow  conveyed  the  note  of  her 
personality — impudence  ;  but  Jane  Anne,  with  a 
grave  and  outraged  dignity,  as  though  in  a  public 
railway  station  this  kind  of  behaviour  was  slightly 
inappropriate.  She  wondered  for  days  afterwards 
whether  she  had  been  quite  correct.  He  was  a 
cousin,  but  still  he  was — a  man.  And  she  wondered 
what  she  ought  to  call  him.  '  Mr.  Rogers '  was  not 
quite  right,  yet  '  Mr.  Cousin  Henry '  was  equally 
ill-chosen.  She  decided  upon  a  combination  of  her 
own,  a  kind  of  code- word  that  was  affectionate  yet 


i42        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

distant  :  '  Cousinenry.'  And  she  used  it  with  an 
explosive  directness  that  was  almost  challenge — he 
could  accept  which  half  he  chose. 

But  all  accepted  him  at  once  without  fear.  They 
felt,  moreover,  a  secret  and  very  tender  thing  ;  there 
was  something  in  this  big,  important  man  that  made 
them  know  he  would  love  them  for  themselves  ;  and 
more — that  something  in  him  had  need  of  them. 
Here  lay  the  explanation  of  their  instant  confidence 
and  acceptance. 

*  What  a  jolly  bunch  you  are,  to  be  sure  !  '  he 
exclaimed.  'And  you're  to  be  my  secretary,  are 
you  ? '  he  added,  taking  Jimbo  by  the  shoulders. 
'  How  splendid  ! ' 

•  Vm  not,'  said  Monkey,  with  a  rush  of  laughter 
already  too  long  restrained.  Her  manner  suggested 
a  somersault,  only  prevented  by  engines  and  officials. 

But  Jimbo  was  a  little  shocked.  This  sort  of 
thing  disgraced  them. 

'  Oh,  I  say  ! '  he  exclaimed  reproachfully. 

'Daddy,  isn't  she  awful?'  added  Jane  Anne 
under  her  breath,  a  sentence  of  disapproval  in  daily 
use.  Her  life  seemed  made  up  of  apologising  for 
her  impudent  sister. 

'The  6. 20  starts  at  6.20,  you  know,'  Jimbo 
announced.  '  The  Lausanne  Express  has  gone. 
Are  your  "baggages"  registered?  '  And  the  party 
moved  off*  in  a  scattered  and  uncertain  manner  to 
buy  tickets  and  register  the  luggage.  They  went 
back  second  class — for  the  first  time  in  their  lives. 
It  was  Cousin  Henry  who  paid  the  difference.  That 
sealed  his  position  finally  in  their  eyes.  He  was  a 
millionaire.  All  London  people  went  first  or  second 
class. 

But  Jimbo   and   his   younger   sister   had   noticed 


xi  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        143 

something  else  about  the  new  arrival  besides  his 
nose  and  eyes  and  length.  Even  his  luxurious 
habit  of  travelling  second  class  did  not  impress 
them  half  as  much  as  this  other  detail  in  his  appear- 
ance. They  referred  to  it  in  a  whispered  talk  behind 
the  shelter  of  the  conducteurs  back  while  tickets  were 
being  punched. 

'  You  know,'  whispered  Monkey,  her  eyes  pop- 
ping, '  I've  seen  Cousin  Henry  before  somewhere. 
I'm  certain.'     She  gave  a  little  gasp. 

Jimbo  stared,  only  half  believing,  yet  undeniably 
moved.  Even  his  friend,  the  Guard,  was  temporarily 
neglected.  *  Where  ? '  he  asked  ;  '  do  you  mean  in  a 
picture  ? ' 

'  No,'  she  answered  with  decision,  *  out  here,  I 
think.  In  the  woods  or  somewhere.'  She  seemed 
vague.  But  her  very  vagueness  helped  him  to 
believe.  She  was  not  inventing  ;  he  was  sure  ot 
that. 

The  conducteur  at  that  moment  passed  away 
along  the  train,  and  Cousin  Henry  looked  straight 
at  the  pair  of  them.  Through  the  open  window 
dusk  fluttered  down  the  sky  with  spots  of  gold 
already  on  its  wings. 

'  What  jolly  stars  you've  got  here,'  he  said, 
pointing.  'They're  like  diamonds.  Look,  it's  a 
perfect  network  far  above  the  Alps.  By  gum — 
what  beauties  ! ' 

And  as  he  said  it  he  smiled.  Monkey  gave  her 
brother  a  nudge  that  nearly  made  him  cry  out. 
He  wondered  what  she  meant,  but  all  the  same  he 
returned  the  nudge  significantly.  For  Cousin  Henry, 
when  he  smiled,  had  plainly  shown — two  teeth  of 
gold. 

The  children  had  never  seen  gold-capped  teeth. 


i44        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      ch.x, 

'  I'd  like  one  for  my  collection,'  thought  Jimbo, 
meaning  a  drawer  that  included  all  his  loose  posses- 
sions of  small  size.  But  another  thing  stirred  in  him 
too,  vague,  indefinite,  far  away,  something  he  had,  as 
it  were,  forgotten. 


CHAPTER   XII 

O  star  benignant  and  serene, 

I  take  the  good  to-morrow, 
That  fills  from  verge  to  verge  my  dream, 

With  all  its  joy  and  sorrow  ! 
The  old  sweet  spell  is  unforgot 

That  turns  to  June  December  ; 
And,  though  the  world  remember  not, 

Love,  we  would  remember. 

Life  and  Death,  W.  E.  Henley. 

And  Rogers  went  over  to  unpack.  It  was  soon 
done.  He  sat  at  his  window  in  the  carpenter's 
house  and  enjoyed  the  peace.  The  spell  of  even- 
ing stole  down  from  the  woods.  London  and  all 
his  strenuous  life  seemed  very  far  away.  Bourcelles 
drew  up  beside  him,  opened  her  robe,  let  down  her 
forest  hair,  and  whispered  to  him  with  her  voice  of 
many  fountains.   .   .   . 

She  lies  just  now  within  the  fringe  of  an  enormous 
shadow,  for  the  sun  has  dipped  behind  the  blue- 
domed  mountains  that  keep  back  France.  Small 
hands  of  scattered  mist  creep  from  the  forest, 
fingering  the  vineyards  that  troop  down  towards 
the  lake.  A  dog  barks.  Gygi,  the  gendarme, 
leaves  the  fields  and  goes  home  to  take  his  uniform 
from  its  peg.  Pere  Langel  walks  among  his  bee- 
hives. There  is  a  distant  tinkling  of  cow-bells  from 
the  heights,  where  isolated  pastures  gleam  like  a 
patchwork  quilt  between  the  spread  of  forest  ;  and 

MS  L 


146        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

farther  down  a  train  from  Paris  or  Geneva,  boom- 
ing softly,  leaves  a  trail  of  smoke  against  the 
background  of  the  Alps  where  still  the  sunshine 
lingers. 

But  trains,  somehow,  do  not  touch  the  village  ; 
they  merely  pass  it.  Busy  with  vines,  washed  by 
its  hill-fed  stream,  swept  by  the  mountain  winds,  it 
lies  unchallenged  by  the  noisy  world,  remote,  un- 
noticed, half  forgotten.  And  on  its  outskirts 
stands  the  giant  poplar  that  guards  it — la  sentinelle 
the  peasants  call  it,  because  its  lofty  crest,  rising  to 
every  wind,  sends  down  the  street  first  warning  of 
any  coming  change.  They  see  it  bend  or  hear  the 
rattle  of  its  leaves.  The  coup  de  Joran,  most  sudden 
and  devastating  of  mountain  winds,  is  on  the  way 
from  the  precipice  of  the  Creux  du  Van.  It  comes 
howling  like  artillery  down  the  deep  Gorges  de 
l'Areuse.  They  run  to  fasten  windows,  collect  the 
washing  from  roof  and  garden,  drive  the  cattle  into 
shelter,  and  close  the  big  doors  of  the  barns.  The 
children  clap  their  hands  and  cry  to  Gygi,  '  Plus 
vite  !  Plus  vite  !  '  The  lake  turns  dark.  Ten 
minutes  later  it  is  raging  with  an  army  of  white 
horses  like  the  sea. 

Darkness  drapes  the  village.  It  comes  from 
the  whole  long  line  of  Jura,  riding  its  troop  of 
purple  shadows — slowly  curtaining  out  the  world. 
For  the  carpenter's  house  stands  by  itself,  apart. 
Perched  upon  a  knoll  beside  his  little  patch  of 
vineyard,  it  commands  perspective.  From  his  upper 
window  Rogers  saw  and  remembered.   .   .   . 

High  up  against  the  fading  sky  ridges  of  lime- 
stone cliff  shine  out  here  and  there,  and  upon  the 
vast  slopes  of  Boudry — /'immense  geant  de  Boudry 
— lies  a  flung  cloak  of  forest  that  knows  no  single 


xii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        147 

seam.  The  smoke  from  bucheron  fires,  joining  the 
scarves  of  mist,  weaves  across  its  shoulder  a  veil  of 
lace-like  pattern,  and  at  its  feet,  like  some  great 
fastening  button,  hides  the  village  of  the  same  name, 
where  Marat  passed  his  brooding  youth.  Its  even- 
ing lights  are  already  twinkling.  They  signal  across 
the  vines  to  the  towers  of  Colombier,  rising  with  its 
columns  of  smoke  and  its  poplars  against  the  sheet 
of  darkening  water — Colombier,  in  whose  castle 
milord  marechal  Keith  had  his  headquarters  as 
Governor  of  the  Principality  of  Neuchatel  under  the 
King  of  Prussia.  And,  higher  up,  upon  the  flank 
of  wooded  mountains,  is  just  visible  still  the  great 
red-roofed  farm  of  C6tendard,  built  by  his  friend 
Lord  Wemyss,  another  Jacobite  refugee,  who  had 
strange  parties  there  and  entertained  Jean  Jacques 
Rousseau  in  his  exile.  La  Citadelle  in  the  village 
was  the  wing  of  another  castle  he  began  to  build,  but 
left  unfinished. 

White  in  the  gathering  dusk,  Rogers  saw  the 
strip  of  roadway  where  passed  the  gorgeous  coach — 
cette  fameuse  diligence  du  milord  marechal  Keith — or 
more  recent,  but  grimmer  memory,  where  General 
Bourbaki's  division  of  the  French  army,  80,000 
strong,  trailed  in  unspeakable  anguish,  hurrying  from 
the  Prussians.  At  Les  Verrieres,  upon  the  frontier, 
they  laid  down  their  arms,  and  for  three  consecutive 
days  and  nights  the  pitiful  destitute  procession  passed 
down  that  strip  of  mountain  road  in  the  terrible 
winter  of  1870-71. 

Some  among  the  peasants  still  hear  that  awful 
tramping  in  their  sleep  :  the  kindly  old  vigneron 
who  stood  in  front  of  his  chalet  from  dawn  to 
sunset,  giving  each  man  bread  and  wine  ;  and  the 
woman   who    nursed   three    soldiers    through   black 


148        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

small-pox,  while  neighbours  left  food  upon  the  wall 
before  the  house.  .  .  .  Memories  of  his  boyhood 
crowded  thick  and  fast.  The  spell  of  the  place 
deepened  about  him  with  the  darkness.  He  recalled 
the  village  postman — fragment  of  another  romance, 
though  a  tattered  and  discredited  one.  For  this 
postman  was  the  descendant  of  that  audacious  pale- 
frenier  who  married  Lord  Wemyss'  daughter,  to  live 
the  life  of  peasants  with  her  in  a  yet  tinier  hamlet 
higher  up  the  slopes.  If  you  asked  him,  he  would 
proudly  tell  you,  with  his  bullet-shaped,  close-cropped 
head  cocked  impertinently  on  one  side,  how  his 
brother,  now  assistant  in  a  Paris  shop,  still  owned  the 
title  of  baron  by  means  of  which  his  reconciliated 
lordship  sought  eventually  to  cover  up  the  unfortunate 
escapade.  He  would  hand  you  English  letters — and 
Scotch  ones  too  ! — with  an  air  of  covert  insolence 
that  was  the  joy  of  half  the  village.  And  on  Sundays 
he  was  to  be  seen,  garbed  in  knickerbockers,  gaudy 
stockings,  and  sometimes  high,  yellowish  spats, 
walking  with  his  peasant  girl  along  the  very  road 
his  more  spirited  forbear  covered  in  his  runaway 
match.   .   .   . 

The  night  stepped  down  more  quickly  every 
minute  from  the  heights.  Deep-noted  bells  floated 
upwards  to  him  from  Colombier,  bringing  upon  the 
evening  wind  some  fragrance  of  these  faded  boyhood 
memories.  The  stars  began  to  peep  above  the  peaks 
and  ridges,  and  the  mountains  of  the  Past  moved 
nearer.  A  veil  of  gossamer  rose  above  the  tree-tops, 
hiding  more  and  more  of  the  landscape  ;  he  just 
could  see  the  slim  new  moon  dip  down  to  drink 
from  her  own  silver  cup  within  the  darkening  lake. 
Workmen,  in  twos  and  threes,  came  past  the  little 
house  from  their  toil  among  the  vines,  and  fragments 


xii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        149 

of  the  Dalcroze  songs  rose  to  his  ear — songs  that  the 
children  loved,  and  that  he  had  not  heard  for  nearly 
a  quarter  of  a  century.  Their  haunting  refrains 
completed  then  the  spell,  for  all  genuine  spells  are  set 
to  some  peculiar  music  of  their  own.  These  Dal- 
croze melodies  were  exactly  right.  .  .  .  The  figures 
melted  away  into  the  single  shadow  of  the  village  street. 
The  houses  swallowed  them,  voices,  footsteps,  and  all. 
And  his  eye,  wandering  down  among  the  lights 
that  twinkled  against  the  wall  of  mountains,  picked 
out  the  little  ancient  house,  nestling  so  close  beside  the 
church  that  they  shared  a  wall  in  common.  Twenty- 
five  years  had  passed  since  first  he  bowed  his  head 
beneath  the  wistaria  that  still  crowned  the  Pension 
doorway.  He  remembered  bounding  up  the  creak- 
ing stairs.  He  felt  he  could  still  bound  as  swiftly 
and  with  as  sure  a  step,  only — he  would  expect  less 
at  the  top  now.  More  truly  put,  perhaps,  he  would 
expect  less  for  himself.  That  ambition  of  his  life 
was  over  and  done  with.  It  was  for  others  now  that 
his  desires  flowed  so  strongly.  Mere  personal  aims 
lay  behind  him  in  a  faded  heap,  their  seductiveness 
exhausted.  .  .  .  He  was  a  man  with  a  Big  Scheme 
now — a  Scheme  to  help  the  world.  .  .  . 

The  village  seemed  a  dull  enough  place  in  those 
days,  for  the  big  Alps  beckoned  beyond,  and  day  and 
night  he  longed  to  climb  them  instead  of  reading  dull 
French  grammar.  But  now  all  was  different.  It 
dislocated  his  sense  of  time  to  find  the  place  so 
curiously  unchanged.  The  years  had  played  some 
trick  upon  him.  While  he  himself  had  altered, 
developed,  and  the  rest,  this  village  had  remained 
identically  the  same,  till  it  seemed  as  if  no  progress 
of  the  outer  world  need  ever  change  it.  The  very 
people   were  so  little    altered — hair    grown  a  little 


150        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

whiter,  shoulders  more  rounded,  steps  here  and 
there  a  trifle  slower,  but  one  and  all  following  the 
old  routine  he  knew  so  well  as  a  boy. 

Tante  Jeanne,  in  particular,  but  for  wrinkles  that 
looked  as  though  a  night  of  good  sound  sleep  would 
smooth  them  all  away,  was  the  same  brave  woman, 
still  '  running '  that  Wistaria  Pension  against  the 
burden  of  inherited  debts  and  mortgages.  '  We're 
still  alive,'  she  had  said  to  him,  after  greetings 
delayed  a  quarter  of  a  century,  '  and  if  we  haven't  got 
ahead  much,  at  least  we  haven't  gone  back  !  '  There 
was  no  more  hint  of  complaint  than  this.  It  stirred 
in  him  a  very  poignant  sense  of  admiration  for  the 
high  courage  that  drove  the  ageing  fighter  forward 
still  with  hope  and  faith.  No  doubt  she  still  turned 
the  kitchen  saucer  that  did  duty  for  planchette,  un- 
consciously pushing  its  blunted  pencil  towards  the 
letters  that  should  spell  out  coming  help.  No  doubt 
she  still  wore  that  marvellous  tea-gown  garment  that 
did  duty  for  so  many  different  toilettes,  even  wearing 
it  when  she  went  with  goloshes  and  umbrella  to 
practise  Sunday's  hymns  every  Saturday  night  on  the 
wheezy  church  harmonium.  And  most  likely  she 
still  made  underskirts  from  the  silk  of  discarded 
umbrellas  because  she  loved  the  sound  of  frou-frou 
thus  obtained,  while  the  shape  of  the  silk  exactly 
adapted  itself  to  the  garment  mentioned.  And 
doubtless,  too,  she  still  gave  away  a  whole  week's 
profits  at  the  slightest  call  of  sickness  in  the  village, 
and  then  wondered  how  it  was  the  Pension  did  not 
pay  .  .   .  ! 

A  voice  from  below  interrupted  his  long  reverie. 

'  Ready  for  supper,  Henry  ? '  cried  his  cousin  up 
the  stairs.  '  It's  past  seven.  The  children  have 
already  left  the  Citadelle.' 


xii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND         151 

And  as  the  two  middle-aged  dreamers  made  their 
way  along  the  winding  street  of  darkness  through  the 
vines,  one  of  them  noticed  that  the  stars  drew  down 
their  grand  old  network,  fastening  it  to  the  heights 
of  Boudry  and  La  Tourne.  He  did  not  mention  it 
to  his  companion,  who  was  wumbling  away  in  his 
beard  about  some  difficult  details  of  his  book,  but  the 
thought  slipped  through  his  mind  like  the  trail  of  a 
flying  comet  :  *  I'd  like  to  stay  a  long  time  in  this 
village  and  get  the  people  straight  a  bit,' — which, 
had  he  known  it,  was  another  thought  carefully 
paraphrased  so  that  he  should  not  notice  it  and  feel 
alarm  :  '  It  will  be  difficult  to  get  away  from  here. 
My  feet  are  in  that  net  of  stars.  It's  catching  about 
my  heart.' 

Low  in  the  sky  a  pale,  witched  moon  of  yellow 
watched  them  go.   .    .   - 

'  The  Starlight  Express  is  making  this  way,  I  do 
believe,'  he  thought.  But  perhaps  he  spoke  the 
words  aloud  instead  of  thinking  them, 

'  Eh  !  What's  that  you  said,  Henry  ? '  asked  the 
other,  taking  it  for  a  comment  of  value  upon  the 
plot  of  a  story  he  had  referred  to. 

'  Oh,  nothing  particular,'  was  the  reply.  '  But 
just  look  at  those  stars  above  La  Tourne.  They 
shine  like  beacons  burning  on  the  trees.'  Minks 
would  have  called  them  '  braziers.' 

'  They  are  rather  bright,  yes,'  said  the  other, 
disappointed.  'The  air  here  is  so  very  clear.'  And 
they  went  up  the  creaking  wooden  stairs  to  supper  in 
the  Wistaria  Pension  as  naturally  as  though  the 
vears  had  lifted  them  behind  the  mountains  of  the 
past  in  a  single  bound — twenty-five  years  ago. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

Near  where  yonder  evening  star 

Makes  a  glory  in  the  air, 
Lies  a  land  dream-found  and  far 

Where  it  is  light  alway. 
There  those  lovely  ghosts  repair 

Who  in  sleep's  enchantment  are, 
In  Cockayne  dwell  all  things  fair — 

(But  it  is  far  away). 

Cockayne  Country,  Agnes  Duclauz. 

The  first  stage  in  Cousinenry's  introduction  took 
place,  as  has  been  seen,  at  a  railway  station  ;  but 
further  stages  were  accomplished  later.  For  real 
introductions  are  not  completed  by  merely  repeating 
names  and  shaking  hands,  still  less  by  a  hurried  kiss. 
The  ceremony  had  many  branches  too — departments, 
as  it  were.  It  spread  itself,  with  various  degrees, 
over  many  days  as  opportunity  offered,  and  included 
Gygi,  the  gendarme,  as  well  as  the  little  troop  of 
retired  governesses  who  came  to  the  Pension  for 
their  mid-day  dinner.  Before  two  days  were  passed 
he  could  not  go  down  the  village  street  without 
lifting  his  cap  at  least  a  dozen  times.  Bourcelles  was 
so  very  friendly ;  no  room  for  strangers  there  ;  a 
new-comer  might  remain  a  mystery,  but  he  could 
not  be  unknown.  Rogers  found  his  halting  French 
becoming  rapidly  fluent  again.  And  every  one  knew 
so  much  about  him — more  almost  than  he  knew 
himself. 

152 


ch.x.ii    A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        153 

At  the  Den  next  day,  on  the  occasion  of  their  first 
tea  together,  he  realised  fully  that  introduction — to  the 
children  at  any  rate — involved  a  kind  of  initiation. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  the  room  was  full  of 
children,  crowds  of  them,  an  intricate  and  ever  shift- 
ing maze.  For  years  he  had  known  no  dealings  with 
the  breed,  and  their  movements  now  were  so  light 
and  rapid  that  it  rather  bewildered  him.  They  were 
in  and  out  between  the  kitchen,  corridor,  and  bedroom 
like  bits  of  a  fluid  puzzle.  One  moment  a  child 
was  beside  him,  and  the  next,  just  as  he  had  a  suitable 
sentence  ready  to  discharge  at  it,  the  place  was 
vacant.  A  minute  later  '  it '  appeared  through 
another  door,  carrying  the  samovar,  or  was  on  the 
roof  outside  struggling  with  Riquette. 

'  Oh,  there  you  are  ! '  he  exclaimed.  c  How  you 
do  dart  about,  to  be  sure  ! ' 

And  the  answer,  if  any,  was  invariably  of  the 
cheeky  order — 

1  One  can't  keep  still  here ;  there's  not  room 
enough.' 

Or,  worse  still — 

'  I  must  get  past  you  somehow  ! '  This,  needless 
to  say,  from  Monkey,  who  first  made  sure  her 
parents  were  out  of  earshot. 

But  he  liked  it,  for  he  recognised  this  proof  that 
he  was  accepted  and  made  one  of  the  circle.  These 
were  tentative  invitations  to  play.  It  made  him  feel 
quite  larky,  though  at  first  he  found  his  machinery 
of  larking  rather  stiff.  The  wheels  required  oiling. 
And  his  first  attempt  to  chase  Miss  Impudence 
resulted  in  a  collision  with  Jane  Anne  carrying  a 
great  brown  pot  of  home-made  jam  for  the  table. 
There  was  a  dreadful  sound.  He  had  stepped  on 
the  cat  at  the  same  time. 


i54        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

His  introduction  to  the  cat  was  the  immediate 
result,  performed  solemnly  by  Jimbo,  and  watched 
by  Jinny,  still  balancing  the  jar  of  jam,  with  an 
expression  of  countenance  that  was  half  amazement 
and  half  shock.  Collisions  with  creatures  of  his  size 
and  splendour  were  a  new  event  to  her. 

*  I  must  advertise  for  help  if  it  occurs  again  !  ' 
she  exclaimed. 

'  That's  Mere  Riquette,  you  know/  announced 
Jimbo  formally  to  his  cousin,  standing  between  them 
in  his  village  school  blouse,  hands  tucked  into  his 
belt. 

'  I  heard  her,  yes.'  From  a  distance  the  cat 
favoured  him  with  a  single  comprehensive  glance, 
then  turned  away  and  disappeared  beneath  the  sofa. 
She,  of  course,  reserved  her  opinion. 

'  It  didn't  really  hurt  her.  She  always  squeals 
like  that.' 

1  Perhaps  she  likes  it,'  suggested  Rogers. 

'  She  likes  better  tickling  behind  the  ear,'  Jimbo 
thought,  anxious  to  make  him  feel  all  right,  and  then 
plunged  into  a  description  of  her  general  habits — 
how  she  jumped  at  the  door  handles  when  she  wanted 
to  come  in,  slept  on  his  bed  at  night,  and  looked  for 
a  saucer  in  a  particular  corner  of  the  kitchen  floor. 
This  last  detail  was  a  compliment.  He  meant  to 
imply  that  Cousin  Henry  might  like  to  see  to  it 
himself  sometimes,  although  it  had  always  been  his 
own  special  prerogative  hitherto. 

*  I  shall  know  in  future,  then,'  said  Rogers 
earnestly,  showing,  by  taking  the  information  seri- 
ously, that  he  possessed  the  correct  instinct. 

'  Oh  yes,  it's  quite  easy.  You'll  soon  learn  it,' 
spoken  with  feet  wide  apart  and  an  expression  of 
careless   importance,   as   who   should   say,    '  What   a 


xiii         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        155 

sensible  man  you  are  !      Still,  these  are  little  things 
one  has  to  be  careful  about,  you  know.' 

Mother  poured  out  tea,  somewhat  laboriously,  as 
though  the  exact  proportions  of  milk,  hot  water,  and 
sugar  each  child  took  were  difficult  to  remember. 
Each  had  a  special  cup,  moreover.  Her  mind, 
ever  crammed  with  a  thousand  domestic  details  which 
she  seemed  to  carry  all  at  once  upon  the  surface, 
ready  for  any  sudden  question,  found  it  difficult  to 
concentrate  upon  the  teapot.  Her  mind  was  ever 
worrying  over  these.  Her  husband  was  too  vague 
to  be  of  practical  help.  When  any  one  spoke  to  her, 
she  would  pause  in  the  middle  of  the  operation, 
balancing  a  cup  in  one  hand  and  a  milk  jug  in  the 
other,  until  the  question  was  properly  answered, 
every  t  crossed  and  every  i  dotted.  There  was  no 
mistaking  what  Mother  meant — provided  you  had 
the  time  to  listen.  She  had  that  careful  thorough- 
ness which  was  no  friend  of  speed.  The  result  was 
that  hands  were  stretched  out  for  second  cups  long 
before  she  had  completed  the  first  round.  Her  own 
tea  began  usually  when  everybody  else  had  finished — 
and  lasted — well,  some  time. 

1  Here's  a  letter  I  got,'  announced  Jimbo,  pulling 
a  very  dirty  scrap  of  paper  from  a  pocket  hidden 
beneath  many  folds  of  blouse.  '  You'd  like  to  see 
it.'  He  handed  it  across  the  round  table,  and 
Rogers  took  it  politely.  '  Thank  you  very  much  ; 
it  came  by  this  morning's  post,  did  it  ? ' 

'  Oh,  no,'  was  the  reply,  as  though  a  big  corre- 
spondence made  the  date  of  little  importance.  '  Not 
by  that  post.'  But  Monkey  blurted  out  with  the 
jolly  laughter  that  was  her  characteristic  sound,  '  It 
came  ages  ago.  He's  had  it  in  his  pocket  for 
weeks.' 


156        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

Jimbo,  ignoring  the  foolish  interruption,  watched 
his  cousin's  face,  while  Jinny  gave  her  sister  a  secret 
nudge  that  every  one  could  see. 

€  Darling  Jimbo,'  was  what  Rogers  read,  '  I  have 
been  to  school,  and  did  strokes  and  prickings  and 
marched   round.     I  am   like  you  now.     A  fat  kiss 

and   a   hug,   your  loving '     The  signature  was 

illegible,  lost  amid  several  scratchy  lines  in  a  blot 
that  looked  as  if  a  beetle  had  expired  after  violent 
efforts  in  a  pool  of  ink. 

'  Very  nice  indeed,  very  well  put,'  said  Rogers, 
handing  it  gravely  back  again,  while  some  one  ex- 
plained that  the  writer,  aged  five,  had  just  gone  to  a 
kindergarten  school  in  Geneva.  « And  have  you 
answered  it  ? ' 

'  Oh,  yes.  I  answered  it  the  same  day,  you  see. 
It  was,  perhaps,  a  foolish  letter  for  a  man  to  have  in 
his  pocket.     Still — it  was  a  letter. 

'  Good  !  What  a  capital  secretary  you'll  make 
me.'  And  the  boy's  flush  of  pleasure  almost  made 
the  dish  of  butter  rosy. 

'  Oh,  take  another  ;  take  a  lot,  please,'  Jimbo 
said,  handing  the  cakes  that  Rogers  divined  were  a 
special  purchase  in  his  honour  ;  and  while  he  did  so, 
managed  to  slip  one  later  on  to  the  plates  of  Monkev 
and  her  sister,  who  sat  on  either  side  of  him.  The 
former  gobbled  it  up  at  once,  barely  keeping  back 
her  laughter,  but  Jinny,  with  a  little  bow,  put  hers 
carefully  aside  on  the  edge  of  her  plate,  not  knowing 
quite  the  '  nice '  thing  to  do  with  it.  Something  in 
the  transaction  seemed  a  trifle  too  familiar  perhaps. 
She  stole  a  glance  at  mother,  but  mother  was  filling 
the  cups  and  did  not  notice.  Daddy  could  have 
helped  her,  only  he  would  say  '  What  ?  '  in  a  loud 
voice,  and  she  would  have  to  repeat  her  question  for 


xui         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        157 

all  to  hear.  Later,  she  ate  the  cake  in  very  small 
morsels,  a  little  uncomfortably. 

It  was  a  jolly,  merry,  cosy  tea,  as  teas  in  the  Den 
always  were.  Daddy  wumbled  a  number  of  things 
in  his  beard  to  which  no  one  need  reply  unless  they 
felt  like  it.  The  usual  sentences  were  not  heard 
to-day  :  '  Monkey,  what  a  mouthful  !  You  must 
not  shovel  in  your  food  like  that  ! '  or,  '  Don't 
gurgle  your  tea  down  ;  swallow  it  quietly,  like  a 
little  lady  '  ;  or,  '  How  often  have  you  been  told  not 
to  drink  with  your  mouth  full  ;  this  is  not  the 
servants'  hall,  remember  ! '  There  were  no  signs  of 
contretemps  of  any  kind,  nothing  was  upset  or 
broken,  and  the  cakes  went  easily  round,  though 
not  a  crumb  was  left  over. 

But  the  entire  time  Mr.  Rogers  was  subjected  to 
the  keenest  scrutiny  imaginable.  Nothing  he  did 
escaped  two  pairs  of  eyes  at  least.  Signals  were 
flashed  below  as  well  as  above  the  table.  These 
signals  were  of  the  kind  birds  know  perhaps — others 
might  be  aware  of  their  existence  if  they  listened 
very  attentively,  yet  might  not  interpret  them.  No 
Comanche  ever  sent  more  deft  communications  un- 
observed to  his  brother  across  a  camp  fire. 

Yet  nothing  was  done  visibly  ;  no  crumb  was 
flicked  ;  and  the  table  hid  the  pressure  of  the  toe 
which,  fortunately,  no  one  intercepted.  Monkey,  at 
any  rate,  had  eyes  in  both  her  feet,  and  Jimbo  knew 
how  to  keep  his  counsel  without  betrayal.  But  in- 
flections of  the  voice  did  most  of  the  work — this, 
with  flashes  of  brown  and  blue  lights,  conveyed  the 
swift  despatches. 

'  My  underneath  goes  out  to  him,'  Monkey 
telegraphed  to  her  brother  while  she  asked  inno- 
cently  for   'jam,   please,   Jimbo';    and   he   replied, 


158         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

'  Oh,  he's  all  right,  I  think,  but  better  not  go  too 
fast,'  as  he  wiped  the  same  article  from  his  chin  and 
caught  her  big  brown  eye  upon  him.  '  He'll  be  our 
Leader,'  she  conveyed  later  by  the  way  she  stirred  her 
cup  of  tea-hot-water-milk,  '  when  once  we've  got  him 
"  out "  and  taught  him '  ;  and  Jimbo  offered  and 
accepted  his  own  resignation  of  the  coveted,  long- 
held  post  by  the  way  he  let  his  eyelid  twiddle  in 
answer  to  her  well-directed  toe-nudge  out  of  sight. 

This,  in  a  brief  resume^  was  the  purport  of  the 
give  and  take  of  numerous  despatches  between  them 
during  tea,  while  outwardly  Mother — and  Father,  too, 
when  he  thought  about  it — were  delighted  with  their 
perfect  company  manners. 

Jane  Anne,  outside  all  this  flummery,  went  her 
own  way  upon  an  even  keel.  She  watched  him 
closely  too,  but  not  covertly.  She  stared  him  in  the 
face,  and  imitated  his  delicate  way  of  eating.  Once 
or  twice  she  called  him  '  Mr.  Rogers,'  for  this  had  a 
grown-up  flavour  about  it  that  appealed  to  her,  and 
'  Cousin  Henry '  did  not  come  easily  to  her  at  first. 
She  could  not  forget  that  she  had  left  the  hole 
secondaire  and  was  on  her  way  to  a  Geneva  Pension 
where  she  would  attend  an  hole  menagere.  And 
the  bursts  of  laughter  that  greeted  her  polite  '  Mr. 
Rogers,  did  you  have  a  nice  journey,  and  do  you 
like  Bourcelles  ? ' — in  a  sudden  pause  that  caught 
Mother  balancing  cup  and  teapot  in  mid-air — puzzled 
her  a  good  deal.  She  liked  his  quiet  answer  though 
— '  Thank  you,  Miss  Campden,  I  think  both  quite 
charming.'  He  did  not  laugh.  He  understood, 
whatever  the  others  might  think.  She  had  wished 
to  correct  the  levity  of  the  younger  brother  and 
sister,  and  he  evidently  appreciated  her  intentions. 
He  seemed  a  nice  man,  a  very  nice  man. 


xiii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        159 

Tea  once  over,  she  carried  off  the  loaded  tray  to 
the  kitchen  to  do  the  washing-up.  Jimbo  and 
Monkey  had  disappeared.  They  always  vanished 
about  this  time,  but  once  the  unenvied  operation  was 
safely  under  way,  they  emerged  from  their  hiding- 
places  again.  No  one  ever  saw  them  go.  They 
were  gone  before  the  order,  *  Now,  children,  help 
your  sister  take  the  things  away,'  was  even  issued. 
By  the  time  they  re-appeared  Jinny  was  halfway 
through  it  and  did  not  want  to  be  disturbed. 

'  Never  mind,  Mother,'  she  said,  '  they're  chronic. 
They're  only  little  busy  Highlanders  ! '  For  '  chronic ' 
was  another  catch-word  at  the  moment,  and  some- 
times by  chance  she  used  it  appropriately.  The 
source  of  '  busy  Highlanders '  was  a  mystery  known 
only  to  herself.  And  resentment,  like  jealousy,  was  a 
human  passion  she  never  felt  and  did  not  understand. 
Jane  Anne  was  the  spirit  of  unselfishness  incarnate. 
It  was  to  her  honour,  but  made  her  ineffective  as  a 
personality. 

Daddy  lit  his  big  old  meerschaum — the  'squelcher' 
Jinny  called  it,  because  of  its  noise — and  mooned 
about  the  room,  making  remarks  on  literature  or 
politics,  while  Mother  picked  a  work-basket  cleverly 
from  a  dangerously  overloaded  shelf,  and  prepared 
to  mend  and  sew.  The  windows  were  wide  open, 
and  framed  the  picture  of  snowy  Alps,  now  turning 
many -tinted  in  the  slanting  sunshine.  Riquette, 
gorged  with  milk,  appeared  from  the  scullery  and 
inspected  knees  and  chairs  and  cushions  that  seemed 
available,  selecting  finally  the  best  arm-chair  and  curl- 
ing up  to  sleep.  Rogers  smoked  a  cigarette,  pleased 
and  satisfied  like  the  cat.  A  hush  fell  on  the  room. 
It  was  the  hour  of  peace  between  tea  and  the  noisy 
Pension  supper  that  later  broke  the  spell.     So  quiet 


160        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

was  it  that  the  mouse  began  to  nibble  in  the  bed- 
room walls,  and  even  peeped  through  the  cracks  it 
knew  between  the  boards.  It  came  out,  flicked  its 
whiskers,  and  then  darted  in  again  like  lightning. 
Jane  Anne,  rinsing  out  the  big  teapot  in  the  scullery, 
frightened  it.  Presently  she  came  in  softly,  put  the 
lamp  ready  for  her  mother's  needle,  in  case  of  need 
later,  gave  a  shy  queer  look  at  '  Mr.  Rogers '  and 
her  father,  both  of  whom  nodded  absent-mindedly  to 
her,  and  then  went  on  tip-toe  out  of  the  room.  She 
was  bound  for  the  village  shop  to  buy  methylated 
spirits,  sugar,  blotting-paper,  and — a  *  plaque '  of 
Suchard  chocolate  for  her  Cousinenry.  The  forty 
centimes  for  this  latter  was  a  large  item  in  her 
savings ;  but  she  gave  no  thought  to  that.  What 
sorely  perplexed  her  as  she  hurried  down  the  street 
was  whether  he  would  like  it  *  milk  '  or  '  plain.'  In 
the  end  she  bought  both. 

Down  the  dark  corridor  of  the  Citadelle,  before 
she  left,  she  did  not  hear  the  muffled  laughter 
among  the  shadows,  nor  see  the  movement  of 
two  figures  that  emerged  together  from  the  farther 
end. 

'  He'll  be  on  the  sofa  by  now.  Shall  we  go  for 
him  ? '     It  was  the  voice  of  Monkey. 

'  Leave  it  to  me.'  Jimbo  still  meant  to  be  leader 
so  far  as  these  two  were  concerned  at  any  rate.  Let 
come  later  what  might. 

'  Better  get  Mother  out  of  the  way  first,  though.' 

'  Mother's  nothing.  She's  sewing  and  things,' 
was  the  reply.  He  understood  the  conditions 
thoroughly.      He  needed  no  foolish  advice. 

'  He's  awfully  easy.  You  saw  the  two  gold 
teeth.      It's  him,  I'm  sure.' 

'  Of  course  he's  easy,  only  a  person  doesn't  want 


xiii         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        161 

to  be  pulled  about  after  tea,'  in  the  tone  of  a  man 
who  meant  to  feel  his  way  a  bit. 

Clearly  they  had  talked  together  more  than  once 
since  the  arrival  at  the  station.  Jimbo  made  up  for 
ignorance  by  decision  and  sublime  self-confidence. 
He  answered  no  silly  questions,  but  listened,  made 
up  his  mind,  and  acted.  He  was  primed  to  the  brim 
— a  born  leader. 

'  Better  tell  him  that  we'll  come  for  him  to-night,' 
the  girl  insisted.  '  He'll  be  less  astonished  then. 
You  can  tell  he  dreams  a  lot  by  his  manner.  Even 
now  he's  only  half  awake.' 

The  conversation  was  in  French  —  school  and 
village  French.  Her  brother  ignored  the  question 
with  '  va  te  cacher  !  '     He  had  no  doubts  himself. 

1  Just  wait  a  moment  while  I  tighten  my  belt,'  he 
observed.  l  You  can  tell  it  by  his  eyes,'  he  added, 
as  Monkey  urged  him  forward  to  the  door.  '  I 
know  a  good  dreamer  when  I  see  one.' 

Then  fate  helped  them.  The  door  against  their 
noses  opened  and  Daddy  came  out,  followed  by  his 
cousin.     All  four  collided. 

'  Oh,  is  the  washing-up  finished  ? '  asked  Monkey 
innocently,  quick  as  a  flash. 

'  How  you  startled  me  ! '  exclaimed  Daddy. 
'  You  really  must  try  to  be  less  impetuous.  You'd 
better  ask  Mother  about  the  washing,'  he  repeated, 
1  she's  in  there  sewing.'  His  thoughts,  it  seemed, 
were  just  a  trifle  confused.  Plates  and  linen  both 
meant  washing,  and  sometimes  hair  and  other  stuff 
as  well. 

'There's  no  light,  you  see,  yet,'  whispered  Jimbo. 
A  small  lamp  usually  hung  upon  the  wall.  Jane 
Anne  at  that  moment  came  out  carrying  it  and 
asking  for  a  match. 

M 


1 62        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       CH*r 

*  No  starlight,  either,'  added  Monkey  quickly, 
giving  her  cousin  a  little  nudge.  '  It's  all  up- 
wumbled,  or  whatever  Daddy  calls  it.' 

The  look  he  gave  her  might  well  have  suppressed 
a  grown-up  person  — '  grande  personne,'  as  Jimbo 
termed  it,  translating  literally — but  on  Monkey  it 
had  only  slight  effect.  Her  irrepressible  little  spirit 
concealed  springs  few  could  regulate.  Even  avoir- 
dupois increased  their  resiliency  the  moment  it  was 
removed.  But  Jimbo  checked  her  better  than  most. 
She  did  look  a  trifle  ashamed — for  a  second. 

'  Can't  you  wait  ? '  he  whispered.  '  Daddy'll  spoil 
it  if  you  begin  it  here.     How  you  do  fidget ! ' 

They  passed  all  together  out  into  the  yard,  the 
men  in  front,  the  two  children  just  behind,  walking 
warily. 

Then  came  the  separation,  yet  none  could  say 
exactly  how  it  was  accomplished.  For  separations 
are  curious  things  at  the  best  of  times,  the  forces 
that  effect  them  as  mysterious  as  wind  that  blows 
a  pair  of  butterflies  across  a  field.  Something  equally 
delicate  was  at  work.  One  minute  all  four  stood  to- 
gether by  the  fountain,  and  the  next  Daddy  was 
walking  downhill  towards  the  carpenter's  house  alone, 
while  the  other  three  were  already  twenty  metres  up 
the  street  that  led  to  the  belt  of  forest. 

Jimbo,  perhaps,  was  responsible  for  the  deft 
manoeuvring.  At  any  rate,  he  walked  beside  his 
big  cousin  with  the  air  of  a  successful  aide-de-camp. 
But  Monkey,  too,  seemed  flushed  with  victory,  roll- 
ing along  —  her  rotundity  ever  suggested  rolling 
rather  than  the  taking  of  actual  steps — as  if  she  led 
a  prisoner. 

'  Don't  bother  your  cousin,  children,'  their  father's 
voice  was  heard  again  faintly  in  the  distance.     Then 


xiii         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        163 

the  big  shoulder  of  La  Citadelle  hid  him  from  view 
and  hearing. 

And  so  the  sight  was  seen  of  these  three,  arm  in 
arm,  passing  along  the  village  street  in  the  twilight. 
Gygi  saw  them  go  and  raised  his  blue,  peaked  cap  ; 
and  so  did  Henri  Favre,  standing  in  the  doorway  of 
his  little  shop,  as  he  weighed  the  possible  value  of 
the  new  customer  for  matches,  chocolate,  and  string 
— the  articles  English  chiefly  bought  ;  and  likewise 
Alfred  Sandoz,  looking  a  moment  through  the 
window  of  his  cabaret,  the  Guillaume  Tell,  saw  them 
go  past  like  shadows  towards  the  woods,  and  ob- 
served to  his  carter  friend  across  the  table,  '  They 
choose  queer  times  for  expeditions,  these  English, 
onah  ! ' 

'  It's  their  climate  makes  them  like  that,'  put  in 
his  wife,  a  touch  of  pity  in  her  voice.  Her  daughter 
swept  the  Den  and  lit  the  fourneau  for  la  famille 
anglaise  in  the  mornings,  and  the  mother,  knowing 
a  little  English,  spelt  out  the  weather  reports  in  the 
Daily  Surprise  she  sometimes  brought. 

Meanwhile  the  three  travellers  had  crossed  the  rail- 
way line,  where  Jimbo  detained  them  for  a  moment's 
general  explanation,  and  passed  the  shadow  of  the 
sentinel  poplar.  The  cluster  of  spring  leaves  rustled 
faintly  on  its  crest.  The  village  lay  behind  them 
now.  They  turned  a  moment  to  look  back  upon 
the  stretch  of  vines  and  fields  that  spread  towards 
the  lake.  From  the  pool  of  shadow  where  the  houses 
nestled  rose  the  spire  of  the  church,  a  strong  dark 
line  against  the  fading  sunset.  Thin  columns  of 
smoke  tried  to  draw  it  after  them.  Lights  already 
twinkled  on  the  farther  shore,  five  miles  across,  and 
beyond  these  rose  dim  white  forms  of  the  tremendous 
ghostly  Alps.     Dusk  slowly  brought  on  darkness. 


1 64        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

Jimbo  began  to  hum  the  song  of  the  village  he 
had  learned  in  school — 

P'tit  Bourcelles  sur  sa  colline 
De  partout  a  gentille  mine  ; 
On  y  pratique  avec  succes 
Sexploitation  du  frantjais, 

and  the  moment  it  was  over,  his  sister  burst  out  with 
the  question  that  had  been  buzzing  inside  her  head 
the  whole  time — 

'  How  long  are  you  going  to  stay  ? '  she  said,  as 
they  climbed  higher  along  the  dusty  road. 

'  Oh,  about  a  week,'  he  told  her,  giving  the 
answer  already  used  a  dozen  times.  '  I've  just  come 
out  for  a  holiday — first  holiday  I've  had  for  twenty 
years.      Fancy  that  !      Pretty  long  time,  eh  ? ' 

They  simply  didn't  believe  that  ;  they  let  it  pass 
— politely. 

'  London's  stuffy,  you  know,  just  now,'  he  added, 
aware  that  he  was  convicted  of  exaggeration.  '  Be- 
sides, it's  spring.' 

'  There  are  millions  of  flowers  here,'  Jimbo  covered 
his  mistake  kindly,  '  millions  and  millions.  Aren't 
there,  Monkey  ? ' 

'  Oh,  billions.' 

'  Of  course,'  he  agreed. 

'  And  more  than  anywhere  else  in  the  whole 
world.' 

'  It  looks  like  that,'  said  Cousin  Henry,  as  proudly 
as  they  said  it  themselves.  And  they  told  him  how 
they  picked  clothes-baskets  full  of  the  wild  lily  of 
the  valley  that  grew  upon  the  Boudry  slopes,  hepa- 
ticas,  periwinkles,  jonquils,  blue  and  white  violets,  as 
well  as  countless  anemones,  and  later,  the  big  yellow 
marguerites. 


xiii         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        165 

'  Then  how  long  are  you  going  to  stay — really  ? ' 
inquired  Monkey  once  again,  as  though  the  polite 
interlude  were  over.  It  was  a  delicate  way  of  sug- 
gesting that  he  had  told  an  untruth.  She  looked  up 
straight  into  his  face.  And,  meeting  her  big  brown 
eyes,  he  wondered  a  little — for  the  first  time — how 
he  should  reply. 

'  Daddy  came  here  meaning  to  stay  only  six 
months — first.' 

'  When  I  was  littler,'  Jimbo  put  in. 

* and  stayed  here  all  this  time — four  years.' 

*  I  hope  to  stay  a  week  or  so — just  a  little  holiday, 
you  know,'  he  said  at  length,  giving  the  answer 
purposely.  But  he  said  it  without  conviction,  halt- 
ingly. He  felt  that  they  divined  the  doubt  in  him. 
They  guessed  his  thought  along  the  hands  upon  his 
arm,  as  a  horse  finds  out  its  rider  from  the  touch 
upon  the  reins.  On  either  side  big  eyes  watched  and 
judged  him  ;  but  the  brown  ones  put  a  positive 
enchantment  in  his  blood.  They  shone  so  wonder- 
fully in  the  dusk. 

1  Longer  than  that,  I  think,'  she  told  him,  her 
own  mind  quite  made  up.  '  It's  not  so  easy  to  get 
away  from.' 

'  You  mean  it  ? '  he  asked  seriously.  *  It  makes 
one  quite  nervous.' 

'  There's  such  a  lot  to  do  here,'  she  said,  still 
keeping  her  eyes  fixed  upon  his  face  till  he  felt 
the  wonder  in  him  become  a  little  unmanageable. 
'  You'll  never  get  finished  in  a  week.' 

'  My  secretary,'  he  stammered,  '  will  help  me,'  and 
Jimbo  nodded,  fastening  both  hands  upon  his  arm, 
while  Monkey  indulged  in  a  little  gust  of  curious 
laughter,  as  who  should  say  '  He  who  laughs  last, 
laughs  best.' 


1 66        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

They  entered  the  edge  of  the  forest.  Hepaticas 
watched  them  with  their  eyes  of  blue.  Violets  marked 
their  tread.  The  frontiers  of  the  daylight  softly 
closed  behind  them.  A  thousand  trees  opened  a 
way  to  let  them  pass,  and  moss  twelve  inches  thick 
took  their  footsteps  silently  as  birds.  They  came 
presently  to  a  little  clearing  where  the  pines  stood 
in  a  circle  and  let  in  a  space  of  sky.  Looking  up, 
all  three  saw  the  first  small  stars  in  it.  A  wild  faint 
scent  of  coming  rain  was  in  the  air — those  warm 
spring  rains  that  wash  the  way  for  summer.  And 
a  signal  flashed  unseen  from  the  blue  eyes  to  the 
brown. 

1  This  way,'  said  Jimbo  firmly.  '  There's  an  arm- 
chair rock  where  you  can  rest  and  get  your  wind  a 
bit,'  and,  though  Rogers  had  not  lost  his  wind,  he 
let  himself  be  led,  and  took  the  great  grey  boulder 
for  his  chair.  Instantly,  before  he  had  arranged  his 
weight  among  the  points  and  angles,  both  his  knees 
were  occupied. 

'  By  Jove,'  flashed  through  his  mind.  *  They've 
brought  me  here  on  purpose.     I'm  caught ! ' 

A  tiny  pause  followed. 

'  Now,  look  here,  you  little  Schemers,  I  want  to 
know  what ' 

But  the  sentence  was  never  finished.  The  hand 
of  Monkey  was  already  pointing  upwards  to  the  space 
of  sky.  He  saw  the  fringe  of  pine  tops  fencing  it 
about  with  their  feathery,  crested  ring,  and  in  the 
centre  shone  faint,  scattered  stars.  Over  the  fence 
of  mystery  that  surrounds  common  objects  wonder 
peeped  with  one  eye  like  a  star. 

'  Cousinenry,'  he  heard  close  to  his  ear,  so  soft  it 
almost  might  have  been  those  tree-tops  whispering  to 
the   night,    '  do   you   know   anything    about    a    Star 


kiu         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        167 

Cave — a  place  where  the  starlight  goes  when  there 
are  no  eyes  or  puddles  about  to  catch  it  ? ' 

A  Star  Cave  !  How  odd  !  His  own  boyhood's 
idea.  He  must  have  mentioned  it  to  his  cousin 
perhaps,  and  he  had  told  the  children.  And  all  that 
was  in  him  of  nonsense,  poetry,  love  rose  at  a  bound 
as  he  heard  it.  He  felt  them  settle  themselves  more 
comfortably  upon  his  knees.  He  forgot  to  think 
about  the  points  and  angles.  Here  surely  a  gateway 
was  opening  before  his  very  feet,  a  gateway  into  that 
world  of  fairyland  the  old  clergyman  had  spoken 
about.  A  great  wave  of  tenderness  swept  him — a 
flood  strong  and  deep,  as  he  had  felt  it  long  ago 
upon  the  hill  of  that  Kentish  village.  The  golden 
boyhood's  mood  rushed  over  him  once  more  with  all 
its  original  splendour.  It  took  a  slightly  different 
form,  however.  He  knew  better  how  to  direct  it 
for  one  thing.  He  pressed  the  children  closer  to 
his  side. 

*  A  what  ? '  he  asked,  speaking  low  as  they  did. 
'  Do  I  know  a  what  ? ' 

'  A  cave  where  lost  starlight  collects,'  Monkey 
repeated,  '  a  Star  Cave.' 

And  Jimbo  said  aloud  the  verses  he  had  already 
learned  by  heart.  While  his  small  voice  gave  the 
words,  more  than  a  little  mixed,  a  bird  high  up 
among  the  boughs  woke  from  its  beauty  sleep  and 
sang.  The  two  sounds  mingled.  But  the  singing 
of  the  bird  brought  back  the  scenery  of  the  Vicarage 
garden,  and  with  it  the  strange,  passionate  things  the 
old  clergyman  had  said.  The  two  scenes  met  in  his 
mind,  passed  in  and  out  of  one  another  like  rings  of 
smoke,  interchanged,  and  finally  formed  a  new  picture 
all  their  own,  where  flowers  danced  upon  a  carpet  of 
star-dust  that  glittered  in  mid-air. 


168        A   PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

He  knew  some  sudden,  deep  enchantment  of  the 
spirit.  The  Fairyland  the  world  had  lost  spread  all 
about  him,  and — he  had  the  children  close.  The 
imaginative  faculty  that  for  years  had  invented  in- 
genious patents,  woke  in  force,  and  ran  headlong  down 
far  sweeter  channels — channels  that  fastened  mind, 
heart,  and  soul  together  in  a  single  intricate  network 
of  soft  belief.  He  remembered  the  dusk  upon  the 
Crayfield  lawns. 

'  Of  course  I  know  a  Star  Cave,'  he  said  at  length, 
when  Jimbo  had  finished  his  recitation,  and  Monkey 
had  added  the  details  their  father  had  told  them. 
'  I  know  the  very  one  your  Daddy  spoke  about.  It's 
not  far  from  where  we're  sitting.  It's  over  there.' 
He  pointed  up  to  the  mountain  heights  behind  them, 
but  Jimbo  guided  his  hand  in  the  right  direction — 
towards  the  Boudry  slopes  where  the  forests  dip  upon 
the  precipices  of  the  Areuse. 

'  Yes,  that's  it — exactly,'  he  said,  accepting  the 
correction  instantly  ;  '  only  /  go  to  the  top  of  the 
mountains  first  so  as  to  slide  down  with  the  river  of 
starlight.' 

1  We  go  straight,'  they  told  him  in  one  breath. 

'  Because  you've  got  more  star-stuff  in  your  eyes 
than  I  have,  and  find  the  way  better,'  he  explained. 

That  touched  their  sense  of  pity.  (  But  you  can 
have  ours,'  they  cried,  '  we'll  share  it.' 

'  No,'  he  answered  softly,  '  better  keep  your  own. 
I  can  get  plenty  now.  Indeed,  to  tell  the  truth — 
though  it's  a  secret  between  ourselves,  remember — 
that's  the  real  reason  I've  come  out  here.  I  want  to 
get  a  fresh  supply  to  take  back  to  London  with  me. 
One  needs  a  fearful  lot  in  London ' 

'  But  there's  no  sun  in  London  to  melt  it,'  objected 
Monkey  instantly. 


xiii         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        169 

'  There's  fog  though,  and  it  gets  lost  in  fog  like 
ink  in  blotting-paper.  There's  never  enough  to  go 
round.  I've  got  to  collect  an  awful  lot  before  I  go 
back.' 

'  That'll  take  more  than  a  week,'  she  said  tri- 
umphantly. 

They  fastened  themselves  closer  against  him,  like 
limpets  on  a  rock. 

'  I  told  you  there  was  lots  to  do  here,'  whispered 
Monkey  again.    '  You'll  never  get  it  done  in  a  week.' 

4  And  how  will  you  take  it  back  ? '  asked  Jimbo 
in  the  same  breath. 

The  answer  went  straight  to  the  boy's  heart. 

'  In  a  train,  of  course.  I've  got  an  express  train 
here  on  purpose ' 

*  The  "  Rapide  "  ? '  he  interrupted,  his  blue  eyes 
starting  like  flowers  from  the  earth. 

'  Quicker  far  than  that.     I've  got ' 

They  stared  so  hard  and  so  expectantly,  it  was 
almost  like  an  interruption.  The  bird  paused  in  its 
rushing  song  to  listen  too. 

' a  Starlight  Express,'  he  finished,  caught  now 

in  the  full  tide  of  fairyland.  '  It  came  here  several 
nights  ago.  It's  being  loaded  up  as  full  as  ever  it 
can  carry.  I'm  to  drive  it  back  again  when  once  it's 
ready.' 

'  Where  is  it  now  ? ' 

*  Who's  loading  it  ? ' 

'  How  fast  does  it  go  ?  Are  there  accidents  and 
collisions  ? ' 

1  How  do  you  find  the  way  ?' 

'  May  I  drive  it  with  you  ? ' 

'  Tell  us  exactly  everything  in  the  world  about 
it — at  once  ! ' 

Questions  poured  in  a  flood  about  him,  and  his 


170        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

imagination  leaped  to  their  answering.  Above  them 
the  curtain  of  the  Night  shook  out  her  million  stars 
while  they  lay  there  talking  with  bated  breath 
together.  On  every  single  point  he  satisfied  them, 
and  himself  as  well.  He  told  them  all — his  visit  to 
the  Manor  House,  the  sprites  he  found  there  still 
alive  and  waiting  as  he  had  made  them  in  his  boy- 
hood, their  songs  and  characters,  the  Dustman, 
Sweep,  and  Lamplighter,  the  Laugher,  and  the 
Woman  of  the  Haystack,  the  blue-eyed  Guard 

'  But  now  her  eyes  are  brown,  aren't  they  ? ' 
Monkey  asked,  peering  very  close  into  his  face.  At 
the  same  moment  she  took  his  heart  and  hid  it  deep 
away  among  her  tumbling  hair. 

1 1  was  coming  to  that.  They're  brown  now,  of 
course,  because  in  this  different  atmosphere  brown 
eyes  see  better  than  blue  in  the  dark.  The  colours 
of  signals  vary  in  different  countries. 

*  And  I'm  the  micanicienj  cried  Jimbo.  '  I  drive 
the  engine.' 

'  And  I'm  your  stoker,'  he  agreed,  '  because  here 
we  burn  wood  instead  of  coal,  and  I'm  director  in  a 
wood-paving  company  and  so  know  all  about  it.' 

They  did  not  pause  to  dissect  his  logic — but  just 
tore  about  full  speed  with  busy  plans  and  question- 
ings. He  began  to  wonder  how  in  the  world  he 
would  satisfy  them — and  satisfy  himself  as  well ! — 
when  the  time  should  come  to  introduce  them  to 
Express  and  Cave  and  Passengers.  For  if  he  failed 
in  that,  the  reality  of  the  entire  business  must  fall  to 
the  ground.  Yet  the  direct  question  did  not  come. 
He  wondered  more  and  more.  Neither  child  luckily 
insisted  on  immediate  tangible  acquaintance.  They 
did  not  even  hint  about  it.  So  far  the  whole  thing 
had  gone  splendidly  and  easily,  like  floating  a  new 


xm         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        171 

company  with  the  rosiest  prospectus  in  the  world  ; 
but  the  moment  must  arrive  when  profits  and 
dividends  would  have  to  justify  mere  talk.  Con- 
crete results  would  be  demanded.  If  not  forth- 
coming, where  would  his  position  be  ? 

Yet,  still  the  flood  of  questions,  answers,  ex- 
planations flowed  on  without  the  critical  sentence 
making  its  appearance.  He  had  led  them  well — so 
far.  How  in  the  world,  though,  was  he  to  keep  it 
up,  and  provide  definite  result  at  the  end  ? 

Then  suddenly  the  truth  dawned  upon  him.  It 
was  not  he  who  led  after  all  ;  it  was  they.  He  was 
being  led.  They  knew.  They  understood.  The 
reins  of  management  lay  in  their  small  capable 
hands,  and  he  had  never  really  held  them  at  all. 
Most  cleverly,  with  utmost  delicacy,  they  had  con- 
cealed from  him  his  real  position.  They  were 
Directors,  he  the  merest  shareholder,  useful  only 
for  '  calls.'  The  awkward  question  that  he  feared 
would  never  come,  but  instead  he  would  receive 
instructions.  '  Keep  close  to  the  children  ;  they 
will  guide  you.'  The  words  flashed  back.  He  was 
a  helpless  prisoner  ;  but  had  only  just  discovered  the 
fact.  He  supplied  the  funds  ;  they  did  the  con- 
struction. Their  plans  and  schemes  netted  his  feet 
in  fairyland  just  as  surely  as  the  weight  of  their 
little  warm,  soft  bodies  fastened  him  to  the  boulder 
where  he  sat.  He  could  not  move.  He  could  not 
go  further  without  their  will  and  leadership. 

But  his  captivity  was  utterly  delightful  to 
him.  .  .  . 

The  sound  of  a  deep  bell  from  the  Colombier 
towers  floated  in  to  them  between  the  trees.  The 
children  sprang  from  his  knees.  He  rose  slowly, 
a  little  cramped  and  stiff. 


172        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

'  Half-past  six,'  said  Jimbo.  '  We  must  go  back 
for  supper.' 

He  stood  there  a  moment,  stretching,  while  the 
others  waited,  staring  up  at  him  as  though  he  were 
a  tree.  And  he  felt  like  a  big  tree  ;  they  were  two 
wild-flowers  his  great  roots  sheltered  down  below. 

And  at  that  moment,  in  the  little  pause  before 
they  linked  up  arms  and  started  home  again,  the 
Question  of  Importance  came,  though  not  in  the  way 
he  had  expected  it  would  come. 

'  Cousinenry,  do  you  sleep  very  tightly  at  night, 
please  ? '  Monkey  asked  it,  but  Jimbo  stepped  up 
nearer  to  watch  the  reply. 

1  Like  a  top,'  he  said,  wondering. 

Signals  he  tried  vainly  to  intercept  flashed  between 
the  pair  of  them. 

1  Why  do  you  ask  ? '  as  nothing  further  seemed 
forthcoming. 

*  Oh,  just  to  know,'  she  explained.  *  It's  all 
right.' 

*  Yes,  it's  quite  all  right  like  that,'  added  Jimbo. 
And  without  more  ado  they  took  his  arms  and 
pulled  him  out  of  the  forest. 

And  Henry  Rogers  heard  something  deep,  deep 
down  within  himself  echo  the  verdict. 
c  I  think  it  is  all  right.' 

On  the  way  home  there  were  no  puddles,  but 
there  were  three  pairs  of  eyes — and  the  stars  were 
uncommonly  thick  overhead.  The  children  asked 
him  almost  as  many  questions  as  there  were  clusters 
of  them  between  the  summits  of  Boudry  and  La 
Tourne.  All  three  went  floundering  in  that  giant 
Net.  It  was  so  different,  too,  from  anything  they 
had    been    accustomed    to.       Their    father's    stories. 


xiii         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        173 

answers,  explanations,  and  the  like,  were  ineffective 
because  they  always  felt  he  did  not  quite  believe 
them  himself  even  while  he  gave  them.  He  did  not 
think  he  believed  them,  that  is.  But  Cousin  Henry 
talked  of  stars  and  star-stuff  as  though  he  had  some 
in  his  pocket  at  the  moment.  And,  of  course,  he 
had.  For  otherwise  they  would  not  have  listened. 
He  could  not  have  held  their  attention. 

They  especially  liked  the  huge,  ridiculous  words 
he  used,  because  such  words  concealed  great  mysteries 
that  pulsed  with  wonder  and  exquisitely  wound  them 
up.  Daddy  made  things  too  clear.  The  bones  of 
impossibility  were  visible.  They  saw  thin  nakedness 
behind  the  explanations,  till  the  sense  of  wonder 
faded.  They  were  not  babies  to  be  fed  with  a  string 
of  one-syllable  words  ! 

Jimbo  kept  silence  mostly,  his  instinct  ever  being 
to  conceal  his  ignorance  ;  but  Monkey  talked  fifteen 
to  the  dozen,  filling  the  pauses  with  long  '  ohs '  and 
bursts  of  laughter  and  impudent  observations.  Yet 
her  cheeky  insolence  never  crossed  the  frontier  where 
it  could  be  resented.  Her  audacity  stopped  short  of 
impertinence. 

*  There's  a  point  beyond  which '  her  cousin 

would  say  gravely,  when  she  grew  more  daring  than 
usual ;  and,  while  answering  '  It'll  stick  into  you, 
then,  not  into  me,'  she  yet  withdrew  from  the  borders 
of  impertinence  at  once. 

'  What  is  star-stuff  really  then  ? '  she  asked. 

'The  primordial  substance  of  the  universe,'  he 
answered  solemnly,  no  whit  ashamed  of  his  in- 
accuracy. 

■  Ah  yes ! '  piped  Jimbo,  quietly.  Ecole 
primaire  he  understood.  This  must  be  something 
similar. 


i74        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

'  But  what  does  it  do,  I  mean,  and  why  is  it  good 
for  people  to  have  it  in  them — on  them — whatever 
it  is  ? '  she  inquired. 

'  It  gives  sympathy  and  insight ;  it's  so  awfully 
subtle  and  delicate,'  he  answered.  '  A  little  of  it 
travels  down  on  every  ray  and  soaks  down  into  you. 
It  makes  you  feel  inclined  to  stick  to  other  people 
and  understand  them.     That's  sympathy.' 

1  Sympathies  said  Jimbo  for  his  sister's  benefit 
apparently,  but  in  reality  because  he  himself  was 
barely  treading  water. 

c  But  sympathy,'  the  other  went  on,  '  is  no  good 
without  insight — which  means  seeing  things  as  others 
see  them — from  inside.     That's  insight ' 

'  Inside  sight,'  she  corrected  him. 

'  That's  it.  You  see,  the  first  stuff  that  existed 
in  the  universe  was  this  star-stuff — nebulae.  Having 
nothing  else  to  stick  to,  it  stuck  to  itself,  and  so  got 
thicker.  It  whirled  in  vortices.  It  grew  together  in 
sympathy,  for  sympathy  brings  together.  It  whirled 
and  twirled  round  itself  till  it  got  at  last  into  solid 
round  bodies — worlds  —  stars.  It  passed,  that  is, 
from  mere  dreaming  into  action.  And  when  the 
rays  soak  into  you,  they  change  your  dreaming  into 
action.  You  feel  the  desire  to  do  things  —  for 
others.' 

*  Ah  !   yes,'  repeated  Jimbo,  '  like  that.' 

'  You  must  be  full  of  vorty  seas,  then,  because 
you're  so  long,'  said  Monkey,  '  but  you'll  never  grow 
into  a  solid  round  body ' 

He  took  a  handful  of  her  hair  and  smothered  the 
remainder  of  the  sentence. 

'  The  instant  a  sweet  thought  is  born  in  your 
mind,'  he  continued,  '  the  heavenly  stables  send  their 
starry   messengers    to    harness    it    for    use.     A   ray, 


xiii         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        175 

perhaps,  from  mighty  Sirius  picks  it  out  of  your 
heart  at  birth.' 

'  Serious  !  '  exclaimed  Jimbo,  as  though  the  sun 
were  listening. 

'  Sirius — another  sun,  that  is,  far  bigger  than  our 
own — a  perfect  giant,  yet  so  far  away  you  hardly 
notice  him.' 

The  boy  clasped  his  dirty  fingers  and  stared  hard. 
The  sun  was  listening. 

*  Then  what  I  think  is  known — like  that — all 
over  the  place  ? '  he  asked.  He  held  himself  very 
straight  indeed. 

'  Everywhere,'  replied  Cousinenry  gravely.  '  The 
stars  flash  your  thoughts  over  the  whole  universe. 
None  are  ever  lost.  Sooner  or  later  they  appear  in 
visible  shape.  Some  one,  for  instance,  must  have 
thought  this  flower  long  ago '  —  he  stooped  and 
picked  a  blue  hepatica  at  their  feet — '  or  it  couldn't 
be  growing  here  now.' 

Jimbo  accepted  the  statement  with  his  usual 
gravity. 

'  Then  I  shall  always  think  enormous  and 
tremendous  things — powerful  locomotives,  like  that 
and — and ' 

'The  best  is  to  think  kind  little  sweet  things 
about  other  people,'  suggested  the  other.  '  You  see 
the  results  quicker  then.' 

'Mais  oui,'  was  the  reply,  'je  pourrai  faire  9a 
au  m£me  temps,  n'est-ce  pas  ? ' 

*  Parfaitemong,'  agreed  his  big  cousin. 

'  There's  no  room  in  her  for  inside  sight,'  ob- 
served Monkey  as  a  portly  dame  rolled  by  into  the 
darkness.  '  You  can't  tell  her  front  from  her  back.' 
It  was  one  of  the  governesses. 

'  We'll    get    her   into    the    cave    and    change   all 


CH.  XIII 


176        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND 

that,'  her  cousin  said  reprovingly.  '  You  must  never 
judge  by  outside  alone.  Puddings  should  teach  vou 
that.'  7 

But  no  one  could  reprove  Monkey  without  running 
a  certain  risk. 

'  We  don't  have  puddings  here,'  she  said,  '  we 
have  dessert — sour  oranges  and  apples.' 

She  flew  from  his  side  and  vanished  down  the 
street  and  into  the  Citadelle  courtyard  before  he 
could  think  of  anything  to  say.  A  shooting  star 
flashed  at  the  same  moment  behind  the  church  tower, 
vanishing  into  the  gulf  of  Boudry's  shadow.  They 
seemed  to  go  at  the  same  pace  together. 

*  Oh,  I  say  ! '  said  Jimbo  sedately,  '  you  must 
punish  her  for  that,  you  know.  Shall  I  come  with 
you  to  the  carpenter's  ?  '  he  added,  as  they  stood  a 
moment  by  the  fountain.  *  There's  just  ten  minutes 
to  wash  and  brush  your  hair  for  supper.' 

'  I  think  I  can  find  my  way  alone,'  he  answered, 
*  thank  you  all  the  same.' 

'  It's  nothing,'  he  said,  lifting  his  cap  as  the  village 
fashion  was,  and  watching  his  cousin's  lengthy  figure 
vanish  down  the  street. 

1  We'll  meet  at  the  Pension  later,'  the  voice  came 
back,  '  and  in  the  morning  I  shall  have  a  lot  of 
correspondence  to  attend  to.  Bring  your  shorthand 
book  and  lots  of  pencils,  mind.' 

'  How  many  ? ' 

'Oh,  half  a  dozen  will  do.' 

The  boy  turned  in  and  hurried  after  his  sister. 
But  he  was  so  busy  collecting  all  the  pencils  and 
paper  he  could  find  that  he  forgot  to  brush  his  hair, 
and  consequently  appeared  at  the  supper  table  with 
a  head  like  a  tangled  blackberry  bush.  His  eyes 
were  bright  as  stars. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

O  pure  one,  take  thy  seat  in  the  barque  of  the  Sun, 
And  3ail  thou  over  the  sky. 

Sail  thou  with  the  imperishable  stars, 
Sail  thou  with  the  unwearied  stars. 

Pyramid  Texts,  Dynasty  VI. 

But  Henry  Rogers  ran  the  whole  two  hundred  yards 
to  his  lodgings  in  the  carpenter's  house.  He  ran  as 
though  the  entire  field  of  brilliant  stars  were  at  his 
heels.  There  was  bewilderment,  happiness,  exhilara- 
tion in  his  blood.  He  had  never  felt  so  light-hearted 
in  his  life.  He  felt  exactly  fifteen  years  of  age — and 
a  half.  The  half  was  added  to  ensure  a  good,  safe 
margin  over  the  other  two. 

But  he  was  late  for  supper  too — later  than  the 
children,  for  first  he  jotted  down  some  notes  upon 
the  back  of  an  envelope.  He  wrote  them  at  high 
speed,  meaning  to  correct  them  later,  but  the  correc- 
tions were  never  made.  Later,  when  he  came  to 
bed,  the  envelope  had  been  tidied  away  by  the  careful 
housewife  into  the  dustbin.  And  he  was  ashamed  to 
ask  for  them.     The  carpenter's  wife  read  English. 

'  Pity,'  he  said  to  himself.  '  I  don't  believe 
Minks  could  have  done  it  better  !  ' 

The  energy  that  went  to  the  making  of  those 
'  notes '  would  have  run  down  different  channels  a 
few  years  ago.  It  would  have  gone  into  some  in- 
genious patent.     The  patent,  however,  might  equally 

177  n 


178        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

have  gone  into  the  dustbin.  There  is  an  enormous 
quantity  of  misdirected  energy  pouring  loose  about 
the  world  ! 

The  notes  had  run  something  like  this — 

O  children,  open  your  arms  to  me, 

Let  your  hair  fall  over  my  eyes  ; 

Let  me  sleep  a  moment — and  then  awake 

In  your  Gardens  of  sweet  Surprise  ! 

For  the  grown-up  folk 

Are  a  wearisome  folk, 

And  they  laugh  my  fancies  to  scorn, 

My  fun  and  my  fancies  to  scorn. 

O  children,  open  your  hearts  to  me, 

And  tell  me  your  wonder-thoughts  ; 

Who  lives  in  the  palace  inside  your  brain  ? 

Who  plays  in  its  outer  courts  ? 

Who  hides  in  the  hours  To-morrow  holds  ? 

Who  sleeps  in  your  yesterdays  ? 

Who  tiptoes  along  past  the  curtained  folds 

Of  the  shadow  that  twilight  lays  ? 

O  children,  open  your  eyes  to  me, 

And  tell  me  your  visions  too  ; 

Who  squeezes  the  sponge  when  the  salt  tears  flow 

To  dim  their  magical  blue? 

Who  draws  up  their  blinds  when  the  sun  peeps  in  ? 

Who  fastens  them  down  at  night  ? 

Who  brushes  the  fringe  of  their  lace-veined  lids  ? 

Who  trims  their  innocent  light  ? 

Then,  children,  I  beg  you,  sing  low  to  me, 
And  cover  my  eyes  with  your  hands  ; 
O  kiss  me  again  till  I  sleep  and  dream 
That  I'm  lost  in  your  fairylands  ; 
For  the  grown-up  folk 
Are  a  troublesome  folk, 
And  the  book  of  their  childhood  is  torn, 
Is  blotted,  and  crumpled,  and  torn  ! 

Supper  at  the  Pension  dissipated  effectively   the 
odd  sense  of  enchantment  to  which  he  had  fallen  a 


xiv         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        179 

victim,  but  it  revived  again  with  a  sudden  rush  when 
Jimbo  and  his  sister  came  up  at  half-past  eight  to  say 
good-night.  It  began  when  the  little  fellow  climbed 
up  to  plant  a  resounding  kiss  upon  his  lips,  and  it 
caught  him  fullest  when  Monkey's  arms  were  round 
his  neck,  and  he  heard  her  whisper  in  his  ear — 

'  Sleep  as  tightly  as  you  can,  remember,  and  don't 
resist.  We'll  come  later  to  find  you/  Her  brown 
eyes  were  straight  in  front  of  his  own.  Goodness, 
how  they  shone  !  Old  Sirius  and  Aldebaran  had 
certainly  left  a  ray  in  each. 

4  Hope  you  don't  get  any  longer  when  you're 
asleep  ! '  she  added,  giving  him  a  sly  dig  in  the  ribs 
— then  was  gone  before  he  could  return  it,  or  ask  her 
what  she  meant  by  'we'll  find  you  later.' 

4  And  don't  say  a  word  to  Mother,'  was  the  last 
thing  he  heard  as  she  vanished  down  the  stairs. 

Slightly  confused,  he  glanced  down  at  the  aged 
pumps  he  happened  to  have  on,  and  noticed  that  one 
bow  was  all  awry  and  loose.  He  stooped  to  fidget 
with  it,  and  Mother  caught  him  in  the  act. 

'  I'll  stitch  it  on  for  you,'  she  said  at  once.  '  It 
won't  take  a  minute.  One  of  the  children  can  fetch 
it  in  the  morning.' 

But  he  was  ashamed  to  add  to  her  endless  sewing. 
Like  some  female  Sisyphus,  she  seemed  always  push- 
ing an  enormous  needle  through  a  mountain  of 
clothes  that  grew  higher  each  time  she  reached 
the  top. 

'  I  always  wear  it  like  that,'  he  assured  her  gravely, 
his  thoughts  still  busy  with  two  other  phrases — '  find 
you '  and  '  sleep  tightly.'  What  in  the  world  could 
they  mean  ?  Did  the  children  really  intend  to  visit 
him  at  night  ?  They  seemed  so  earnest  about  it. 
Of  course  it  was  all  nonsense.     And  yet ! 


180        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

'  You  mustn't  let  them  bother  you  too  much,'  he 
heard  their  mother  saying,  her  voice  sounding  a  long 
way  off.  c  They're  so  wildly  happy  to  have  some 
one  to  play  with.' 

'  That's  how  I  like  them,'  he  answered  vaguely, 
referring  half  to  the  pumps  and  half  to  the  children. 
'  They're  no  trouble  at  all,  believe  me.' 

*  I'm  afraid  we've  spoilt  them  rather ' 

1  But — not  at  all,'  he  murmured,  still  confused. 
'They're  only  a  little  loose  —  er — lively,  I  mean. 
That's  how  they  should  be.' 

And  outside  all  heard  their  laughing  voices  dying 
down  the  street  as  they  raced  along  to  the  Citadelle 
for  bed.  It  was  Monkey's  duty  to  see  her  brother 
safely  in.  Ten  minutes  later  Mother  would  follow 
to  tell  them  tuck-up  stories  and  hear  their  prayers. 

'  Excuse  me  !  Have  you  got  a  hot-water  bottle  ? ' 
asked  a  sudden  jerky  voice,  and  he  turned  with  a 
start  to  see  Jane  Anne  towering  beside  him. 

1  I'm  sorry,'  he  answered,  '  but  I  don't  carry  such 
things  about  with  me.'  He  imagined  she  was  joking, 
then  saw  that  it  was  very  serious. 

She  looked  puzzled  a  moment.  '  I  meant — would 
you  like  one  ?  Everybody  uses  them  here.'  She 
thought  all  grown-ups  used  hot-water  bottles. 

He  hesitated  a  second.  The  child  looked  as 
though  she  would  produce  one  from  her  blouse  like 
any  conjurer.  As  yet,  however,  the  article  in  ques- 
tion had  not  entered  his  scheme  of  life.  He  declined 
it  with  many  thanks. 

'  I  can  get  you  a  big  one,'  she  urged.  But  even 
that  did  not  tempt  him. 

'  Will  you  have  a  cold-water  bandage  then — for 
your  head — or  anything  ? ' 

She  seemed  so  afflicted  with  a  desire  to  do  some- 


xiv         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND         181 

thing  for  him  that  he  almost  said  *  Yes  ' ;  only  the 
fear  that  she  might  offer  next  a  beehive  or  a  gramo- 
phone restrained  him. 

'  Thank  you  so  much,  but  really  I  can  manage 
without  it — to-night.' 

Jane  Anne  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  her  dis- 
appointment. What  a  man  he  was,  to  be  sure  ! 
And  what  a  funny  place  the  world  was  ! 

'  It's  Jinny's  panacea,'  said  Mother,  helping  herself 
with  reckless  uncertainty  to  a  long  word.  '  She's 
never  happy  unless  she's  doing  for  somebody,'  she 
added  ambiguously.     '  It's  her  metier  in  life.' 

'  Mother,  what  are  you  saying  ? '  said  the  child's 
expression.  Then  she  made  one  last  attempt.  She 
remembered,  perhaps,  the  admiring  way  he  had 
watched  her  brother  and  sister's  antics  in  the  Den 
before.  She  was  not  clever  on  her  feet,  but  at  least 
she  could  try. 

'  Shall  I  turn  head  over  heels  for  you,  then  ? ' 

He  caught  her  mother's  grave  expression  just 
in  time  to  keep  his  laughter  back.  The  offer  of 
gymnastics  clearly  involved  sacrifice  somewhere. 

'  To-morrow,'  he  answered  quickly.  'Always  put 
off"  till  to-morrow  what  you're  too  old  to  do  to-day.' 

'  Of  course  ;  I  see — yes.'  She  was  more  perplexed 
than  ever,  as  he  meant  that  she  should  be.  His 
words  were  meaningless,  but  they  helped  the  poignant 
situation  neatly.  She  could  not  understand  why  all 
her  offers  were  refused  like  this.  There  must  be 
something  wrong  with  her  selection,  perhaps.  She 
would  think  of  better  ones  in  future.  But,  oh,  what 
a  funny  place  the  world  was  ! 

'  Good-night,  then,  Mr.  —  Cousin  Rogers,'  she 
said  jerkily  with  resignation.  '  Perhaps  to-morrow 
—when  I'm  older ' 


1 82        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

'  If  it  comes.'  He  gravely  shook  the  hand  she 
held  out  primly,  keeping  a  certain  distance  from  him 
lest  he  should  attempt  to  kiss  her. 

'  It  always  comes  ;  it's  a  chronic  monster,'  she 
laughed,  saying  the  first  thing  that  came  into  her 
queer  head.  They  all  laughed.  Jane  Anne  went 
out,  feeling  happier.  At  least,  she  had  amused  him. 
She  marched  off  with  the  air  of  a  grenadier  going  to 
some  stern  and  difficult  duty.  From  the  door  she 
flung  back  at  him  a  look  of  speechless  admiration,  then 
broke  into  a  run,  afraid  she  might  have  been  immodest 
or  too  forward.    They  heard  her  thumping  overhead. 

And  presently  he  followed  her  example.  The 
Pension  sitting-room  emptied.  Unless  there  was 
something  special  on  hand — a  dance,  a  romp,  a  game, 
or  some  neighbours  who  dropped  in  for  talk  and 
music — it  was  rarely  occupied  after  nine  o'clock. 
Daddy  had  already  slipped  home  —  he  had  this 
mysterious  way  of  disappearing  when  no  one  saw 
him  go.  At  this  moment,  doubtless,  a  wumbled 
book  absorbed  him  over  at  the  carpenter's.  Old 
Miss  Waghorn  sat  in  a  corner  nodding  over  her 
novel,  and  the  Pension  cat,  Borelle,  was  curled  up  in 
her  sloping,  inadequate  lap. 

The  big,  worn  velvet  sofa  in  the  opposite  corner 
was  also  empty.  On  romping  nights  it  was  the 
train  de  Moscou>  where  Jimbo  sold  tickets  to  crowded 
passengers  for  any  part  of  the  world.  To-night  it 
was  a  mere  dead  sofa,  uninviting,  dull. 

He  went  across  the  darkened  room,  his  head 
scraping  acquaintance  with  the  ivy  leaves  that  trailed 
across  the  ceiling.  He  slipped  through  the  little 
hall.  In  the  kitchen  he  heard  the  shrill  voice  of 
Mme.  Jequier  talking  very  loudly  about  a  dozen 
things   at   once   to    the  servant-girl,  or  to  any  one 


xiv         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        183 

else  who  was  near  enough  to  listen.  Luckily  she 
did  not  see  him.  Otherwise  he  would  never  have 
escaped  without  another  offer  of  a  hot-water  bottle, 
a  pot  of  home-made  marmalade,  or  a  rug  and  pillow 
for  his  bed. 

He  made  his  way  downstairs  into  the  street  un- 
noticed ;  but  just  as  he  reached  the  bottom  his 
thundering  tread  betrayed  him.  The  door  flew  open 
at  the  top. 

'  Bon  soir,  bonne  nuit,'  screamed  the  voice  ;  '  wait 
a  moment  and  I'll  get  the  lamp.  You'll  break  your 
neck.  Is  there  anything  you  want — a  hot-water 
bottle,  or  a  box  of  matches,  or  some  of  my  marma- 
lade for  your  breakfast  ?     Wait,  and  I'll  get  it  in  a 

moment '     She  would  have  given  the  blouse  off 

her  back  had  he  needed,  or  could  have  used  it. 

She  flew  back  to  the  kitchen  to  search  and  shout. 
It  sounded  like  a  quarrel  ;  but,  pretending  not  to 
hear,  he  made  good  his  escape  and  passed  out  into 
the  street.  The  heavy  door  of  the  Post  Office 
banged  behind  him,  cutting  short  a  stream  of  excited 
sentences.  The  peace  and  quiet  of  the  night  closed 
instantly  about  his  steps. 

By  the  fountain  opposite  the  Citadelle  he  paused 
to  drink  from  the  pipe  of  gushing  mountain  water. 
The  open  courtyard  looked  inviting,  but  he  did  not 
go  in,  for,  truth  to  tell,  there  was  a  curious  excite- 
ment in  him — an  urgent,  keen  desire  to  get  to  sleep 
as  soon  as  possible.  Not  that  he  felt  sleepy — quite 
the  reverse  in  fact,  but  that  he  looked  forward  to  his 
bed  and  to  *  sleeping  tightly.' 

The  village  was  already  lost  in  slumber.  No 
lights  showed  in  any  houses.  Yet  it  was  barely  half- 
past  nine.  Everywhere  was  peace  and  stillness.  Far 
across  the  lake  he  saw  the  twinkling  villages.     Be- 


184        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND     ch.xiv 

hind  him  dreamed  the  forests.  A  deep  calm  brooded 
over  the  mountains  ;  but  within  the  calm,  and  just 
below  the  surface  in  himself,  hid  the  excitement  as  of 
some  lively  anticipation.  He  expected  something. 
Something  was  going  to  happen.  And  it  was  con- 
nected with  the  children.  Jimbo  and  Monkey  were 
at  the  bottom  of  it.  They  had  said  they  would 
come  for  him — to  '  find  him  later.'  He  wondered — 
quite  absurdly  he  wondered. 

He  passed  his  cousin's  room  on  tiptoe,  and  noticed  a 
light  beneath  the  door.  But,  before  getting  into  bed,  he 
stood  a  moment  at  the  open  window  and  drew  in  deep 
draughts  of  the  fresh  night  air.  The  world  of  forest 
swayed  across  his  sight.  The  outline  of  the  Citadelle 
merged  into  it.  A  point  of  light  showed  the  window 
where  the  children  already  slept.  But,  far  beyond, 
the  moon  was  loading  stars  upon  the  trees,  and  a 
rising  wind  drove  them  in  glittering  flocks  along  the 
heights.   .  .  . 

Blowing  out  the  candle,  he  turned  over  on  his 
side  to  sleep,  his  mind  charged  to  the  brim  with 
wonder  and  curious  under-thrills  of  this  anticipation. 
He  half  expected — what  ?  Reality  lay  somewhere 
in  the  whole  strange  business  ;  it  was  not  merely 
imaginative  nonsense.     Fairyland  was  close. 

And  the  moment  he  slept  and  began  to  dream, 
the  thing  took  a  lively  and  dramatic  shape.  A 
thousand  tiny  fingers,  soft  and  invisible,  drew  him 
away  into  the  heart  of  fairyland.  There  was  a  terror 
in  him  lest  he  should — stick.  But  he  came  out 
beautifully  and  smoothly,  like  a  thread  of  summer 
grass  from  its  covering  sheath. 

'  I  am  slippery  after  all,  then — slippery  enough,' 
he  remembered  saying  with  surprised  delight,  and 
then 


CHAPTER   XV 

Look  how  the  floor  of  heaven 
I?  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold. 
There's  not  the  smallest  orb  which  thou  beholdest 
But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  «ingi, 
Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubims. 

Merchant  of  Venice. 

■ there  came  to  him  a  vivid  impression  of  sudden 

light  in  the  room,  and  he  knew  that  something  very 
familiar  was  happening  to  him,  yet  something  that 
had  not  happened  consciously  for  thirty  years  and 
more — since  his  early  childhood  in  the  night-nursery 
with  the  bars  across  the  windows. 

He  was  both  asleep  and  awake  at  the  same  time. 
Some  part  of  him,  rather,  that  never  slept  was  dis- 
engaging itself — with  difficulty.  He  was  getting 
free.  Stimulated  by  his  intercourse  with  the  children, 
this  part  of  him  that  in  boyhood  used  to  be  so  easily 
detached,  light  as  air,  was  getting  loose.  The  years 
had  fastened  it  in  very  tightly.  Jimbo  and  Monkey 
had  got  at  it.  And  Jimbo  and  Monkey  were 
in  the  room  at  this  moment.  They  were  pulling 
him  out. 

It  was  very  wonderful  ;  a  glory  of  youth  and 
careless  joy  rushed  through  him  like  a  river.  Some 
sheath  or  vesture  melted  off.  It  seemed  to  tear  him 
loose.  How  in  the  world  could  he  ever  have  for- 
gotten it — let  it  go  out  of  his  life  ?     What  on  earth 

185 


1 86        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap, 

could  have  seemed  good  enough  to  take  its  place  ? 
He  felt  like  an  eagle  some  wizard  spell  had  im- 
prisoned in  a  stone,  now  released  and  shaking  out  its 
crumpled  wings.  A  mightier  spell  had  set  him  free. 
The  children  stood  beside  his  bed  ! 

'  I  can  manage  it  alone,'  he  said  firmly.  *  You 
needn't  try  to  help  me.' 

No  sound  was  audible,  but  they  instantly  desisted. 
This  thought,  that  took  a  dozen  words  to  express 
ordinarily,  shot  from  him  into  them  the  instant  it 
was  born.  A  gentle  pulsing,  like  the  flicker  of  a 
flame,  ran  over  their  shining  little  forms  of  radiance 
as  they  received  it.  They  shifted  to  one  side  silently 
to  give  him  room.  Thus  had  he  seen  a  searchlight 
pass  like  lightning  from  point  to  point  across  the  sea. 

Yet,  at  first,  there  was  difficulty  ;  here  and  there, 
in  places,  he  could  not  get  quite  loose  and  free. 

'  He  sticks  like  Daddy,'  he  heard  them  think. 
'  In  the  head  it  seems,  too.' 

There  was  no  pain  in  the  sensation,  but  a  certain 
straining  as  of  unaccustomed  muscles  being  stretched. 
He  felt  uncomfortable,  then  embarrassed,  then — 
exhilarated.  But  there  were  other  exquisite  sensations 
too.  Happiness,  as  of  flooding  summer  sunshine, 
poured  through  him. 

'  He'll  come  with  a  rush.  Look  out ! '  felt  Jimbo 
— '  felt '  expressing  c  thought '  and  '  said  '  together, 
for  no  single  word  can  convey  the  double  operation 
thus  combined  in  ordinary  life. 

The  reality  of  it  caught  him  by  the  throat. 

'  This,'  he  exclaimed,  '  is  real  and  actual.  It  is 
happening  to  me  now  !  ' 

He  looked  from  the  pile  of  clothes  taken  off 
two  hours  ago — goodness,  what  a  mass  ! — to  the 
children's  figures  in  the  middle  of  the  room.     And 


Xv  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        187 

one  was  as  real  as  the  other.  The  moods  of 
the  day  and  evening,  their  play  and  nonsense, 
had  all  passed  away.  He  had  crossed  a  gulf 
that  stood  between  this  moment  and  those  good- 
nights  in  the  Pension.  This  was  as  real  as  anything 
in  life  ;  more  real  than  death.  Reality — he  caught 
the  obvious  thought  pass  thickly  through  the  body 
on  the  bed — is  what  has  been  experienced.  Death, 
for  that  reason,  is  not  real,  not  realised  ;  dinner  is. 
And  this  was  real  because  he  had  been  through  it, 
though  long  forgotten  it. 

Jimbo  stood  aside  and  *  felt '  directions. 

'  Don't  push,'  he  said. 

'  Just  think  and  wish,'  added  Monkey  with  a  laugh. 

It  was  her  laugh,  and  perhaps  the  beauty  of  her 
big  brown  eyes  as  well,  that  got  him  finally  loose. 
For  the  laughter  urged  some  queer,  deep  yearning 
in  him  towards  a  rush  of  exquisite  accomplishment. 
He  began  to  slip  more  easily  and  freely.  The  brain 
upon  the  bed,  oddly  enough,  remembered  a  tradition 
of  old  Egypt  —  that  Thoth  created  the  world  by 
bursting  into  seven  peals  of  laughter.  It  touched 
forgotten  springs  of  imagination  and  belief.  In 
some  tenuous,  racy  vehicle  his  thought  flashed  forth. 
With  a  gliding  spring,  like  a  swooping  bird  across  a 
valley,  he  was  suddenly — out. 

'  I'm  out ! '  he  cried. 

'  All  out !  '  echoed  the  answering  voices. 

And  then  he  understood  that  first  vivid  im- 
pression of  light.  It  was  everywhere,  an  evenly 
distributed  light.  He  saw  the  darkness  of  the  night 
as  well,  the  deep  old  shadows  that  draped  the  village, 
woods,  and  mountains.  But  in  themselves  was  light, 
a  light  that  somehow  enabled  them  to  see  everything 
quite    clearly.       Solid    things   were    all    transparent. 


1 88        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

Light  even  radiated  from  objects  in  the  room.  Two 
much-loved  books  upon  the  table  shone  beautifully 
— his  Bible  and  a  volume  of  poems  ;  and,  fairer  still, 
more  delicate  than  either,  there  was  a  lustre  on  the 
table  that  had  so  brilliant  a  halo  it  almost  corrus- 
cated.  The  sparkle  in  it  was  like  the  sparkle  in  the 
children's  eyes.  It  came  from  the  bunch  of  violets, 
gentians,  and  hepaticas,  already  faded,  that  Mother  had 
placed  there  days  ago  on  his  arrival.  And  overhead, 
through  plaster,  tiles,  and  rafters  he  saw — the  stars. 

'  We've  already  been  for  Jinny,'  Jimbo  informed 
him  ;  '  but  she's  gone  as  usual.  She  goes  the 
moment  she  falls  asleep.  We  never  can  catch  her 
up  or  find  her.' 

'  Come  on,'  cried  Monkey.  *  How  slow  you 
both  are  !  We  shan't  get  anywhere  at  this  rate.' 
And  she  made  a  wheel  of  coloured  fire  in  the  air. 

'  I'm  ready,'  he  answered,  happier  than  either. 
*  Let's  be  off"  at  once.' 

Through  his  mind  flashed  this  explanation  of 
their  elder  sister's  day-expression — that  expression 
of  a  moth  she  had,  puzzled,  distressed,  only  half 
there,  as  the  saying  is.  For  if  she  went  out  so  easily 
at  night  in  this  way,  some  part  of  her  probably  stayed 
out  altogether.  She  never  wholly  came  back.  She 
was  always  dreaming.  The  entire  instinct  of  the 
child,  he  remembered,  was  for  others,  and  she 
thought  of  herself  as  little  as  did  the  sun — old  tire- 
less star  that  shines  for  all. 

'  She's  soaked  in  starlight,'  he  cried,  as  they  went 
off"  headlong.  '  We  shall  find  her  in  the  Cave. 
Come  on,  you  pair  of  lazy  meteors.' 

He  was  already  far  beyond  the  village,  and  the 
murmur  of  the  woods  rose  up  to  them.  They  entered 
the   meshes  of  the   Star  Net  that   spun   its   golden 


xv  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        189 

threads  everywhere  about  them,  linking  up  the  Uni- 
verse with  their  very  hearts. 

'  There  are  no  eyes  or  puddles  to-night.  Every- 
body sleeps.     Hooray,  hooray  ! '  they  cried  together. 

There  were  cross-currents,  though.  The  main, 
broad,  shining  stream  poured  downwards  in  front  of 
them  towards  the  opening  of  the  Cave,  a  mile  or 
two  beyond,  where  the  forests  dipped  down  among 
the  precipices  of  the  Areuse  ;  but  from  behind — 
from  some  house  in  the  slumbering  village — came  a 
golden  tributary  too,  that  had  a  peculiar  and  astonish- 
ing brightness  of  its  own.  It  came,  so  far  as  they 
could  make  out,  from  the  humped  outline  of  La 
Citadelle,  and  from  a  particular  room  there,  as 
though  some  one  in  that  building  had  a  special  source 
of  supply.  Moreover,  it  scattered  itself  over  the 
village  in  separate  swift  rivulets  that  dived  and 
dipped  towards  particular  houses  here  and  there. 
There  seemed  a  constant  coming  and  going,  one 
stream  driving  straight  into  the  Cave,  and  another 
pouring  out  again,  yet  neither  mingling.  One 
stream  brought  supplies,  while  the  other  directed 
their  distribution.  Some  one,  asleep  or  awake — 
they  could  not  tell — was  thinking  golden  thoughts 
of  love  and  sympathy  for  the  world. 

'  It's  Mile.  Lemaire,'  said  Jimbo.  '  She's  been  in 
bed  for  thirty  years '      His  voice  was  very  soft. 

'The  spine,  you  know,'  exclaimed  Monkey,  a 
little  in  the  rear. 

' and  even  in  the   daytime  she  looks  white 

and  shiny,'  added  the  boy.  '  I  often  go  and  talk 
with  her  and  tell  her  things.'  He  said  it  proudly. 
*  She  understands  everything  —  better  even  than 
Mother.'  Jimbo  had  told  most.  It  was  all  right. 
His  leadership  was  maintained  and  justified. 


i9o        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

They  entered  the  main  stream  and  plunged  down- 
wards with  it  towards  the  earth — three  flitting  figures 
dipped  in  this  store  of  golden  brilliance. 

A  delicious  and  wonderful  thing  then  happened. 
All  three  remembered. 

'  This  was  where  we  met  you  first,'  they  told 
him,  settling  down  among  the  trees  together  side  by 
side.  *  We  saw  your  teeth  of  gold.  You  came  in 
that  train ' 

'I  was  thinking  about  it — in  England.'  he  ex- 
claimed, '  and  about  coming  out  to  find  you  here.' 

'The  Starlight  Express,'  put  in  Jimbo. 

' and  you  were  just  coming  up  to  speak  to  us 

when  we  woke,  or  you  woke,  or  somebody  woke — 
and  it  all  went,'  said  Monkey. 

'  That  was  when  I  stopped  thinking  about  it,'  he 
explained. 

'  It  all  vanished  anyhow.  And  the  next  time 
was  ' — she  paused  a  moment — '  you — we  saw  your 
two  gold  teeth  again  somewhere,  and  half  recognised 
you ' 

It  was  the  daylight  world  that  seemed  vague  and 
dreamlike  now,  hard  to  remember  clearly. 

'In     another    train — 'Jimbo    helped    her,    'the 

Geneva  omnibus  that  starts  at — at '     But  even 

Jimbo  could  not  recall  further  details. 

'  You're  wumbled,'  said  Rogers,  helping  him- 
self and  the  others  at  the  same  time.  '  You  want 
some  starlight  to  put  you  in  touch  again.  Come 
on  ;  let's  go  in.  We  shall  find  all  the  others  inside, 
I  suspect,  hard  at  it.' 

'  At  what  ? '  asked  two  breathless  voices. 

'Collecting,  of  course  —  for  others.  Did  you 
think  they  ate  the  stuff,  just  to  amuse  themselves  ? ' 

'  They  glided  towards  the  opening,  cutting  through 


xv  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        191 

the  little  tributary  stream  that  was  pouring  out  on  its 
way  down  the  sky  to  that  room  in  La  Citadelle.  It 
was  brighter  than  the  main  river,  they  saw,  and 
shone  with  a  peculiar  brilliance  of  its  own,  whiter 
and  swifter  than  the  rest.  Designs,  moreover,  like 
crystals  floated  on  the  crest  of  every  wave. 

*  That's  the  best  quality,'  he  told  them,  as  their 
faces  shone  a  moment  in  its  glory.  '  The  person 
who  deserves  it  must  live  entirely  for  others.  That 
he  keeps  only  for  the  sad  and  lonely.  The  rest,  the 
common  stuff,  is  good  enough  for  Fraulein  or  for 

baby,  or  for  mother,  or  any  other '     The  words 

rose  in  him  like  flowers  that  he  knew. 

'  Look  out,  mon  vieux  !  '  It  was  Monkey's 
voice.  They  just  had  time  to  stand  aside  as  a  figure 
shot  past  them  and  disappeared  into  the  darkness 
above  the  trees.  A  big  bundle,  dripping  golden 
dust,  hung  down  his  back. 

'  The  Dustman  ! '  they  cried  with  excitement, 
easily  recognising  his  energetic  yet  stooping  figure  ; 
and  Jimbo  added,  '  the  dear  old  Dustman  !  '  while 
Monkey  somersaulted  after  him,  returning  breath- 
less a  minute  later  with,  '  He's  gone  ;  I  couldn't  get 
near  him.     He  went  straight  to  La  Citadelle ' 

And  then  collided  violently  with  the  Lamplighter, 
whose  pole  of  office  caught  her  fairly  in  the  middle 
and  sent  her  spinning  like  a  conjurer's  plate  till  they 
feared  she  would  never  stop.  She  kept  on  laughing 
the  whole  time  she  spun — like  a  Catherine  wheel 
that  laughs  instead  of  splutters.  The  place  where 
the  pole  caught  her,  however — it  was  its  lighted  end 
— shines  and  glows  to  this  day  :  the  centre  of  her 
little  heart. 

'  Do  let's  be  careful,'  pleaded  Jimbo,  hardly  ap- 
proving   of  these   wild    gyrations.      He    really   did 


192        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

prefer  his  world  a  trifle  more  dignified.  He  was 
ever  the  grave  little  gentleman. 

They  stooped  to  enter  by  the  narrow  opening, 
but  were  stopped  again — this  time  by  some  one 
pushing  rudely  past  them  to  get  in.  From  the 
three  points  of  the  compass  to  which  the  impact 
scattered  them,  they  saw  a  shape  of  darkness  squeeze 
itself,  sack  and  all,  to  enter.  An  ordinary  man 
would  have  broken  every  bone  in  his  body,  judging 
by  the  portion  that  projected  into  the  air  behind. 
But  he  managed  it  somehow,  though  the  discomfort 
must  have  been  intolerable,  they  all  thought.  The 
darkness  dropped  off  behind  him  in  flakes  like  dis- 
carded clothing  ;  he  turned  to  gold  as  he  went  in  ; 
and  the  contents  of  his  sack — he  poured  it  out  like 
water — shone  as  though  he  squeezed  a  sponge  just 
dipped  in  the  Milky  Way. 

'  What  a  lot  he's  collected,'  cried  Rogers  from  his 
point  of  vantage  where  he  could  see  inside.  '  It  all 
gets  purified  and  clean  in  there.  Wait  a  moment. 
He's  coming  out  again — off  to  make  another  collec- 
tion.' 

And  then  they  knew  the  man  for  what  he  was. 
He  shot  past  them  into  the  night,  carrying  this  time 
a  flat  and  emptied  sack,  and  singing  like  a  blackbird 
as  he  went  : — 

Sweeping  chimneys  and  cleaning  flues, 
That  is  the  work  I  love  ; 
Brushing  away  the  blacks  and  the  blues, 
And  letting  in  light  from  above  ! 
I  twirl  my  broom  in  your  tired  brain 
When  you're  tight  in  sleep  up-curled, 
Then  scatter  the  stuff  in  a  soot-like  rain 
Over  the  edge  of  the  world. 

The  voice  grew  fainter  and  fainter  in  the  distance — 


xv  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        193 

For  I'm  a  tremendously  busy  Sweep, 
Catching  the  folk  when  they're  all  asleep, 
And  tossing  the  blacks  on  the  Rubbish  Heap 
Over  the  edge  of  the  world  .  .  .    ! 

The  voice  died  away  into  the  wind  among  the 
high  branches,  and  they  heard  it  no  more. 

'  There's  a  Sweep  worth  knowing,'  murmured 
Rogers,  strong  yearning  in  him. 

'  There  are  no  blacks  or  blues  in  my  brain,'  ex- 
claimed Monkey,  '  but  Jimbo's  always  got  some  on 
his  face.' 

The  impudence  passed  ignored.  Jimbo  took  his 
cousin's  hand  and  led  him  to  the  opening.  The 
'  men '  went  in  first  together  ;  the  other  sex  might 
follow  as  best  it  could.  Yet  somehow  or  other 
Monkey  slipped  between  their  legs  and  got  in  before 
them.  They  stood  up  side  by  side  in  the  most 
wonderful  place  they  had  ever  dreamed  of. 

And  the  first  thing  they  saw  was — Jane  Anne. 

'  I'm  collecting  for  Mother  Her  needles  want 
such  a  chronic  lot,  you  see.'  Her  face  seemed  full 
of  stars  ;  there  was  no  puzzled  expression  in  the 
eyes  now.  She  looked  beautiful.  And  the  younger 
children  stared  in  sheer  amazement  and  admiration. 

'  I  have  no  time  to  waste,'  she  said,  moving  past 
them  with  a  load  in  her  spread  apron  that  was  like 
molten  gold  ;  '  I  have  to  be  up  and  awake  at  six  to 
make  your  porridge  before  you  go  to  school.  I'm  a 
busy  monster,  I  can  tell  you  ! '  She  went  by  them 
like  a  flash,  and  out  into  the  night. 

Monkey  felt  tears  in  her  somewhere,  but  they 
did  not  fall.  Something  in  her  turned  ashamed — for 
a  moment.  Jimbo  stared  in  silence.  '  What  a  girl ! ' 
he  thought.  '  I'd  like  to  be  like  that !  '  Already 
the  light  was  sticking  to  him. 

o 


i94        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

'  So  this  is  where  she  always  comes,'  said  Monkey, 
soon  recovering  from  the  temporary  attack  of  emotion. 
'  She's  better  out  than  in  ;  she's  safest  when  asleep  ! 
No  wonder  she's  so  funny  in  the  daytime.' 

Then  they  turned  to  look  about  them,  breathing 
low  as  wild-flowers  that  watch  a  rising  moon. 

The  place  was  so  big  for  one  thing — far  bigger 
than  they  had  expected.  The  storage  of  lost  star- 
light must  be  a  serious  affair  indeed  if  it  required  all 
this  space  to  hold  it.  The  entire  mountain  range 
was  surely  hollow.  Another  thing  that  struck  them 
was  the  comparative  dimness  of  this  huge  interior 
compared  with  the  brilliance  of  the  river  outside. 
But,  of  course,  lost  things  are  ever  dim,  and  those 
worth  looking  for  dare  not  be  too  easily  found. 

A  million  tiny  lines  of  light,  they  saw,  wove 
living,  moving  patterns,  very  intricate  and  very  ex- 
quisite. These  lines  and  patterns  the  three  drew  in 
with  their  very  breath.  They  swallowed  light — the 
tenderest  light  the  world  can  know.  A  scent  of 
flowers — something  between  a  violet  and  a  wild  rose 
— floated  over  all.  And  they  understood  these 
patterns  while  they  breathed  them  in.  They  read 
them.  Patterns  in  Nature,  of  course,  are  fairy 
script.  Here  lay  all  their  secrets  sweetly  explained 
in  golden  writing,  all  mysteries  made  clear.  The 
three  understood  beyond  their  years  ;  and  inside- 
sight,  instead  of  glimmering,  shone.  For,  somehow 
or  other,  the  needs  of  other  people  blazed  every- 
where, obliterating  their  own.     It  was  most  singular. 

Monkey  ceased  from  somersaulting  and  stared  at 
Jimbo. 

'  You've  got  two  stars  in  your  face  instead  of  eyes. 
They'll   never   set !  '  she   whispered.       '  I   love   you 
because  I  understand  every  bit  of  you.' 


xv  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        195 

*  And  you,'  he  replied,  as  though  he  were  a  grande 
personne,  '  have  got  hair  like  a  mist  of  fire.  It  will 
never  go  out  ! ' 

'  Every  one  will  love  me  now,'  she  cried,  '  my 
underneath  is  gold.' 

But  her  brother  reproved  her  neatly  : — 

*  Let's  get  a  lot — simply  an  awful  lot'  —  he 
made  a  grimace  to  signify  quantity — '  and  pour  it 
over  Daddy's  head  till  it  runs  from  his  eyes  and 
beard.  He'll  write  real  fairy  stories  then  and  make 
a  fortune.' 

And  Cousin  Henry  moved  past  them  like  a  burn- 
ing torch.  They  held  their  breath  to  see  him.  Jane 
Anne,  their  busy  sister,  alone  excelled  him  in  bright- 
ness.    Her  perfume,  too,  was  sweeter. 

'  He's  an  old  hand  at  this  game,'  Monkey  said  in 
French. 

'  But  Jinny's  never  done  anything  else  since  she 
was  born,'  replied  her  brother  proudly. 

And  they  all  three  fell  to  collecting,  for  it  seemed 
the  law  of  the  place,  a  kind  of  gravity  none  could 
disobey.  They  stooped — three  semi-circles  of  tender 
brilliance.  Each  lost  the  least  desire  to  gather  for 
himself  ;  the  needs  of  others  drove  them,  filled  them, 
made  them  eager  and  energetic. 

"  Riquette  would  like  a  bit,'  cried  Jimbo,  almost 
balancing  on  his  head  in  his  efforts  to  get  it  all  at 
once,  while  Monkey's  shining  fingers  stuffed  her 
blouse  and  skirts  with  sheaves  of  golden  gossamer 
that  later  she  meant  to  spread  in  a  sheet  upon  the 
pillow  of  Mademoiselle  Lemaire. 

'  She  sleeps  so  little  that  she  needs  the  best,'  she 
sang,  realising  for  once  that  her  own  amusement  was 
not  the  end  of  life.     '  I'll  make  her  nights  all  wonder.' 

Cousinenry,    meanwhile,  worked    steadily   like    a 


196        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

man  who  knows  his  time  is  short.  He  piled  the 
stuff  in  heaps  and  pyramids,  and  then  compressed  it 
into  what  seemed  solid  blocks  that  made  his  pockets 
bulge  like  small  balloons.  Already  a  load  was  on  his 
back  that  bent  him  double. 

'  Such  a  tiny  bit  is  useful,'  he  explained,  '  if  you 
know  exactly  how  and  where  to  put  it.  This  com- 
pression is  my  own  patent.' 

'  Of  course,'  they  echoed,  trying  in  vain  to  pack 
it  up  as  cleverly  as  he  did. 

Nor  were  these  three  the  only  gatherers.  The 
place  was  full  of  movement.  Jane  Anne  was  always 
coming  back  for  more,  deigning  no  explanations. 
She  never  told  where  she  had  spent  her  former  loads. 
She  gathered  an  apron  full,  sped  off  to  spend  and 
scatter  it  in  places  she  knew  of,  and  then  came 
bustling  in  again  for  more.  And  they  always  knew 
her  whereabouts  because  of  the  whiter  glory  that  she 
radiated  into  the  dim  yellow  world  about  them. 

And  other  figures,  hosts  of  them,  were  every- 
where—  stooping,  picking,  loading  one  another's 
backs  and  shoulders.  To  and  fro  they  shot  and 
glided,  like  Leonids  in  autumn  round  the  Earth. 
All  were  collecting,  though  the  supply  seemed  never 
to  grow  less.  An  inexhaustible  stream  poured  in 
through  the  narrow  opening,  and  scattered  itself  at 
once  in  all  directions  as  though  driven  by  a  wind. 
How  could  the  world  let  so  much  escape  it,  when 
it  was  what  the  world  most  needed  every  day.  It 
ran  naturally  into  patterns,  patterns  that  could  be 
folded  and  rolled  up  like  silken  tablecloths.  In 
silence,  too.  There  was  no  sound  of  drops  falling. 
Sparks  fly  on  noiseless  feet.  Sympathy  makes  no 
bustle. 

1  Even  on   the    thickest    nights   it   falls,'   a   voice 


xv  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        197 

issued  from  a  robust  patch  of  light  beside  them  that 
stooped  with  huge  brown  hands  all  knotted  into 
muscles  ;  '  and  it's  a  mistake  to  think  different.' 
His  voice  rolled  on  into  a  ridiculous  bit  of  singing  : — 

It  comes  down  with  the  rain  drops, 
It  comes  down  with  the  dew, 
There's  always  'eaps  for  every  one— 
For  'im  and  me  and  you. 

They  recognised  his  big  face,  bronzed  by  the  sun, 
and  his  great  neck  where  lines  drove  into  the  skin 
like  the  rivers  they  drew  with  blunt  pencils  on  their 
tedious  maps  of  Europe.  It  was  several  faces  in  one. 
The  Head  Gardener  was  no  stranger  to  their 
imaginations,  for  they  remembered  him  of  old  some- 
where, though  not  quite  sure  exactly  where.  He 
worked  incessantly  for  others,  though  these  '  others ' 
were  only  flowers  and  cabbages  and  fruit-trees.  He 
did  his  share  in  the  world,  he  and  his  army  of  queer 
assistants,  the  under-gardeners. 

Peals  of  laughter,  too,  sounded  from  time  to  time 
in  a  far  away  corner  of  the  cavern,  and  the  laughter 
sent  all  the  stuff  it  reached  into  very  delicate,  em- 
broidered patterns.  For  it  was  merry  and  infectious 
laughter,  joy  somewhere  in  it  like  a  lamp.  It 
bordered  upon  singing  ;  another  touch  would  send 
it  rippling  into  song.  And  to  that  far  corner, 
attracted  by  the  sound,  ran  numberless  rivulets  of 
light,  weaving  a  lustrous  atmosphere  about  the 
Laugher  that,  even  while  it  glowed,  concealed  the 
actual  gatherer  from  sight.  The  children  only  saw 
that  the  patterns  were  even  more  sweet  and  dainty 
than  their  own.  And  they  understood.  Inside- 
sight  explained  the  funny  little  mystery.  Laughter 
is  magical — brings  light  and  help  and  courage.    They 


198        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap, 

laughed  themselves  then,  and  instantly  saw  their  own 
patterns  wave  and  tremble  into  tiny  outlines  that  they 
could  squeeze  later  even  into  the  darkest,  thickest  head. 

Cousinenry,  meanwhile,  they  saw,  stopped  for 
nothing.  He  was  singing  all  the  time  as  he  bent 
over  his  long,  outstretched  arms.  And  it  was  the 
singing  after  all  that  made  the  best  patterns — better 
even  than  the  laughing.  He  knew  all  the  best 
tricks  of  this  Star  Cave.     He  remained  their  leader. 

And  the  stuff  no  hands  picked  up  ran  on  and  on, 
seeking  a  way  of  escape  for  itself.  Some  sank  into 
the  ground  to  sweeten  the  body  of  the  old  labouring 
earth,  colouring  the  roots  of  myriad  flowers  ;  some 
soaked  into  the  rocky  walls,  tinting  the  raw  materials 
of  hills  and  woods  and  mountain  tops.  Some  escaped 
into  the  air  in  tiny  drops  that,  meeting  in  moonlight 
or  in  sunshine,  instantly  formed  wings.  And  people 
saw  a  brimstone  butterfly — all  wings  and  hardly  any 
body.  All  went  somewhere  for  some  useful  pur- 
pose. It  was  not  in  the  nature  of  star-stuff  to 
keep  still.  Like  water  that  must  go  down-hill,  the 
law  of  its  tender  being  forced  it  to  find  a  place 
where  it  could  fasten  on  and  shine.  It  never  could 
get  wholly  lost  ;  though,  if  the  place  it  settled  on 
was  poor,  it  might  lose  something  of  its  radiance. 
But  human  beings  were  obviously  what  most  attracted 
it.  Sympathy  must  find  an  outlet ;  thoughts  are 
bound  to  settle  somewhere. 

And  the  gatherers  all  sang  softly — 'Collect  for 
others,  never  mind  yourself!  ' 

Some  of  it,  too,  shot  out  by  secret  ways  in  the 
enormous  roof.  The  children  recognised  the  exit  of 
the  separate  brilliant  stream  they  had  encountered  in 
thd  sky — the  one  especially  that  went  to  the  room 
of  pain  and  sickness  in   La  Citadelle.     Again  they 


A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        199 

understood.  That  unselfish  thinker  of  golden 
thoughts  knew  special  sources  of  supply.  No  wonder 
that  her  atmosphere  radiated  sweetness  and  uplifting 
influence.  Her  patience,  smiles,  and  courage  were 
explained.  Passing  through  the  furnace  of  her  pain, 
the  light  was  cleansed  and  purified.  Hence  the 
delicate,  invariable  radiation  from  her  presence,  voice, 
and  eyes.  From  the  bed  of  suffering  she  had  not 
left  for  thirty  years  she  helped  the  world  go  round 
more  sweetly  and  more  easily,  though  few  divined 
those  sudden  moments  of  beauty  they  caught  flash- 
ing from  her  halting  words,  nor  guessed  their  source 
of  strength. 

1  Of  course,'  thought  Jimbo,  laughing,  '  I  see  now 
why  I  like  to  go  and  tell  her  everything.  She  under- 
stands all  before  I've  said  it.  She's  simply  stuffed 
with  starlight — bursting  with  inside-sight.' 

1  That's  sympathy,'  his  cousin  added,  hearing  the 
vivid  thought.  And  he  worked  away  like  an  entire 
ant-heap.  But  he  was  growing  rather  breathless  now. 
*  There's  too  much  for  me,'  he  laughed  as  though 
his  mouth  were  full.  '  I  can't  manage  it  all ! '  He 
was  wading  to  the  waist,  and  his  coat  and  trousers 
streamed  with  runnels  of  orange-coloured  light. 

'  Swallow  it  then  ! '  cried  Monkey,  her  hair  so 
soaked  that  she  kept  squeezing  it  like  a  sponge,  both 
eyes  dripping  too. 

It  was  their  first  real  experience  of  the  joy  of 
helping  others,  and  they  hardly  knew  where  to  begin 
or  end.  They  romped  and  played  in  the  stuff  like 
children  in  sand  or  snow — diving,  smothering  them- 
selves, plunging,  choking,  turning  somersaults,  up- 
setting each  other's  carefully  reared  loads,  and  leaping 
over  little  pyramids  of  gold.  Then,  in  a  flash,  their 
laughter  turned  the  destroyed  heaps  into  wonderful 


200        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

new  patterns  again  ;  and  once  more  they  turned 
sober  and  began  to  work. 

But  their  cousin  was  more  practical.  '  I've  got  all 
I  can  carry  comfortably,'  he  sang  out  at  length.  '  Let's 
go  out  now  and  sow  it  among  the  sleepers.    Come  on ! ' 

A  field  of  stars  seemed  to  follow  him  from  the 
roof  as  he  moved  with  difficulty  towards  the  opening 
of  the  cave. 

Some  one  shot  out  just  in  front  of  him.  '  My 
last  trip  ! '  The  words  reached  them  from  outside. 
His  bulging  figure  squeezed  somehow  through  the 
hole,  layers  of  light  scraping  off  against  the  sides. 
The  children  followed  him.  But  no  one  stuck.  All 
were  beautifully  elastic  ;  the  starlight  oiled  and 
greased  their  daring,  subtle  star-bodies.  Laden  to 
the  eyes,  they  sped  across  the  woods  that  still  slept 
heavily.  The  tips  of  the  pines,  however,  were 
already  opening  a  million  eyes.  There  was  a  faint 
red  glimmer  in  the  east.  Hours  had  passed  while 
they  were  collecting. 

'  The  Interfering  Sun  is  on  the  way.  Look  out ! ' 
cried  some  one,  shooting  past  them  like  an  unleashed 
star.  '  I  must  get  just  a  little  more — my  seventeenth 
journey  to-night !  '  And  Jane  Anne,  the  puzzled 
look  already  come  back  a  little  into  her  face,  darted 
down  towards  the  opening.  The  waking  of  the  body 
was  approaching. 

'  What  a  girl  ! '  thought  Jimbo  again,  as  they  hur- 
ried after  their  grown-up  cousin  towards  the  village. 

And  here,  but  for  the  leadership  of  Cousin  Henry, 
they  must  have  gone  astray  and  wasted  half  their 
stores  in  ineffective  fashion.  Besides,  the  east  was 
growing  brighter,  and  there  was  a  touch  of  confusion 
in  their  little  star-bodies  as  sleep  grew  lighter  and  the 
moment  of  the  body's  waking  drew  nearer. 


XV 


A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       201 


Ah  !  the  exquisite  adjustment  that  exists  between 
the  night  and  day  bodies  of  children  !  It  is  little 
wonder  that  with  the  process  of  growing-up  there 
comes  a  coarsening  that  congeals  the  fluid  passages 
of  exit,  and  finally  seals  the  memory  centres  too. 
Only  in  a  few  can  this  delicate  adjustment  be  pre- 
served, and  the  sources  of  inspiration  known  to 
children  be  kept  available  and  sweet — in  the  poets, 
dreamers,  and  artists  of  this  practical,  steel-girdled 

age' 

'  This   way,'   called    Cousinenry.      '  Follow    me.' 

They    settled    down    in    a    group    among    Madame 

Jequier's  lilacs.      '  We'll  begin  with  the  Pension  des 

Glycines.     Jinny  is  already  busy  with  La  Citadelle.' 

They  perched  among  the  opening  blossoms.  Over- 
head flashed  by  the  Sweep,  the  Dustman,  and  the 
Laugher,  bound  for  distant  ports,  perhaps  as  far  as 
England.  The  Head  Gardener  lumbered  heavily 
after  them  to  find  his  flowers  and  trees.  Starlight, 
they  grasped,  could  be  no  separate  thing.  The  rays 
started,  indeed,  from  separate  points,  but  all  met  later 
in  the  sky  to  weave  this  enormous  fairy  network  in 
which  the  currents  and  cross-currents  and  criss-cross- 
currents  were  so  utterly  bewildering.  Alone,  the 
children  certainly  must  have  got  lost  in  the  first  five 
minutes. 

Their  cousin  gathered  up  the  threads  from 
Monkey's  hair  and  Jimbo's  eyes,  and  held  them  in 
one  hand  like  reins.  He  sang  to  them  a  moment 
while  they  recovered  their  breath  and  forces  : — 

The  stars  in  their  courses 

Are  runaway  horses 

That  gallop  with  Thoughts  from  the  Earth  ; 

They  collect  them,  and  race 

Back  through  wireless  space, 

Bringing  word  of  the  tiniest  birth  ; 


202       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      Ch.  xv 

Past  old  Saturn  and  Mars, 

And  the  hosts  of  big  stars, 

Who  strain  at  their  leashes  for  joy. 

Kind  thoughts,  like  fine  weather, 

Bind  sweetly  together 

God's  suns — with  the  heart  of  a  boy. 

So,  beware  what  you  think  ; 

It  is  written  in  ink 

That  is  golden,  and  read  by  His  Stars ! 

*  Hadn't  we  better  get  on  ? '  cried  Monkey,  pull- 
ing impatiently  at  the  reins  he  held. 

1  Yes,'  echoed  Jimbo.  '  Look  at  the  sky.  The 
"  rapide  "  from  Paris  comes  past  at  six  o'clock.' 


CHAPTER   XVI 


Aus  den  Himmelsaugen  droben 
Fallen  zitternd  goldne  Funken 
Durch  die  Nacht,  und  meine  Seele 
Dehnt  sich  liebeweit  und  weiter. 

O  ihr  Himmelsaugen  droben, 
Weint  euch  aus  in  meine  Seele, 
Dasa  von  lichten  Sternentranen 
Uberfliesset  meine  Seele  ! 

HEIN2 


They  rose,  fluttered  a  moment  above  the  lilac  bushes, 
and  then  shot  forward  like  the  curve  of  a  rainbow 
into  the  sleeping  house.  The  next  second  they  stood 
beside  the  bed  of  the  Widow  Jequier. 

She  lay  there,  so  like  a  bundle  of  untidy  sticks 
that,  but  for  the  sadness  upon  the  weary  face,  they 
could  have  burst  out  laughing.  The  perfume  of  the 
wistaria  outside  the  open  window  came  in  sweetly, 
yet  could  not  lighten  the  air  of  heavy  gloom  that 
clothed  her  like  a  garment.  Her  atmosphere  was 
dull,  all  streaked  with  greys  and  black,  for  her  mind, 
steeped  in  anxiety  even  while  she  slept,  gave  forth 
cloudy  vapours  of  depression  and  disquietude  that 
made  impossible  the  approach  of — light.  Starlight, 
certainly,  could  not  force  an  entrance,  and  even  sun- 
light would  spill  half  its  radiance  before  it  reached 
her  heart.  The  help  she  needed  she  thus  deliberately 
shut  out.  Before  going  to  bed  her  mood  had  been 
one  of  anxious  care  and  searching  worry.  It  con- 
tinued, of  course,  in  sleep. 

203 


2o4        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

'  Now,'  thought  their  leader  briskly,  '  we  must  deal 
with  this  at  once '  ;  and  the  children,  understanding 
his  unspoken  message,  approached  closer  to  the  bed. 
How  brilliant  their  little  figures  were — Jimbo,  a  soft, 
pure  blue,  and  Monkey  tinged  faintly  here  and  there 
with  delicate  clear  orange.  Thus  do  the  little  clouds 
of  sunset  gather  round  to  see  the  sun  get  into  bed. 
And  in  utter  silence  ;  all  their  intercourse  was  silent 
— thought,  felt,  but  never  spoken. 

For  a  moment  there  was  hesitation.  Cousinenry 
was  uncertain  exactly  how  to  begin.  Tante  Jeanne's 
atmosphere  was  so  very  thick  he  hardly  knew  the 
best  way  to  penetrate  it.  Her  mood  had  been  so 
utterly  black  and  rayless.  But  his  hesitation  operated 
like  a  call  for  help  that  flew  instantly  about  the  world 
and  was  communicated  to  the  golden  threads  that 
patterned  the  outside  sky.  They  quivered,  flashed 
the  message  automatically  ;  the  enormous  network 
repeated  it  as  far  as  England,  and  the  answer  came. 
For  thought  is  instantaneous,  and  desire  is  prayer. 
Quick  as  lightning  came  the  telegram.  Beside  them 
stood  a  burly  figure  of  gleaming  gold. 

'  I'll  do  it,'  said  the  earthy  voice.  '  I'll  show  you 
'ow.  For  she  loves  'er  garden.  Her  sympathy  with 
trees  and  flowers  lets  me  in.  Always  send  for  me 
when  she's  in  a  mess,  or  needs  a  bit  of  trimmin'  and 
cleanin'  up.' 

The  Head  Gardener  pushed  past  them  with  his 
odour  of  soil  and  burning  leaves,  his  great  sunburned 
face  and  his  browned,  stained  hands.  These  muscular, 
big  hands  he  spread  above  her  troubled  face  ;  he 
touched  her  heart  ;  he  blew  his  windy  breath  of 
flowers  upon  her  untidy  hair  ;  he  called  the  names  of 
lilac,  wistaria,  roses,  and  laburnum.   .  .   . 

The  room  filled  with  the  little  rushing  music  of 


xvi         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        205 

wind  in  leaves  ;  and,  as  he  said  *  laburnum,'  there 
came  at  last  a  sudden  opening  channel  through  the 
fo<y  that  covered  her  so  thickly.  Starlight,  that  was 
like  a  rivulet  of  laburnum  blossoms  melted  into 
running  dew,  flowed  down  it.  The  Widow  Jequier 
stirred  in  her  sleep  and  smiled.  Other  channels 
opened.  Light  trickled  down  these,  too,  drawn  in 
and  absorbed  from  the  store  the  Gardener  carried. 
Then,  with  a  rush  of  scattering  fire,  he  was  gone 
again.  Out  into  the  enormous  sky  he  flew,  trailing 
golden  flame  behind  him.  They  heard  him  singing 
as  he  dived  into  the  Network — singing  of  buttercups 
and  cowslips,  of  primroses  and  marigolds  and  dande- 
lions, all  yellow  flowers  that  have  stored  up  starlight. 
And  the  atmosphere  of  Tante  Jeanne  first  glowed, 
then  shone  ;  it  changed  slowly  from  gloom  to  glory. 
Golden  channels  opened  everywhere,  making  a  minia- 
ture network  of  their  own.  Light  flashed  and 
corruscated  through  it,  passing  from  the  children 
and  their  leader  along  the  tiny  pipes  of  sympathy  the 
Gardener  had  cleared  of  rubbish  and  decay.  Along 
the  very  lines  of  her  face  ran  tiny  shining  rivers  ; 
flooding  across  her  weary  eyelids,  gilding  her  untidy 
hair,  and  pouring  down  into  her  heavy  heart.  She 
ceased  fidgeting  ;  she  smiled  in  her  sleep  ;  peace 
settled  on  her  face  ;  her  fingers  on  the  coverlet  lost 
their  touch  of  strain.  Finally  she  turned  over, 
stretched  her  old  fighting  body  into  a  more  comfort- 
able position,  sighed  a  moment,  then  settled  down 
into  a  deep  and  restful  slumber.  Her  atmosphere 
was  everywhere  '  soft-shiny  '  when  they  left  her  to 
shoot  next  into  the  attic  chamber  above,  where  Miss 
Waghorn  lay  among  her  fragments  of  broken  memory, 
and  the  litter  of  disordered  images  that  passed  with 
her  for  '  thinking.' 


206        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

And  here,  again,  although  their  task  was  easier, 
they  needed  help  to  show  the  right  way  to  begin. 
Before  they  reached  the  room  Jimbo  had  wondered 
how  they  would  '  get  at '  her.  That  wonder  summoned 
help.  The  tall,  thin  figure  was  already  operating 
beside  the  bed  as  they  entered.  His  length  seemed 
everywhere  at  once,  and  his  slender  pole,  a  star 
hanging  from  the  end,  was  busy  touching  articles  on 
walls  and  floor  and  furniture.  The  disorder  every- 
where was  the  expression  of  her  dishevelled  mind, 
and  though  he  could  not  build  the  ruins  up  again,  at 
least  he  could  trace  the  outlines  of  an  ordered  plan 
that  she  might  use  when  she  left  her  body  finally 
and  escaped  from  the  rebellious  instrument  in  death. 
And  now  that  escape  was  not  so  very  far  away. 
Obviously  she  was  already  loose.  She  was  breaking 
up,  as  the  world  expresses  it. 

And  the  children,  watching  with  happy  delight, 
soon  understood  his  method.  Each  object  that  he 
touched  emitted  a  tiny  light.  In  her  mind  he  touched 
the  jumble  of  wandering  images  as  well.  On  waking 
she  would  find  both  one  and  the  other  better  assorted. 
Some  of  the  lost  things  her  memory  ever  groped  for 
she  would  find  more  readily.  She  would  see  the 
starlight  on  them. 

'  See,'  said  their  leader  softly,  as  the  long  thin 
figure  of  the  Lamplighter  shot  away  into  the  night, 
'  she  sleeps  so  lightly  because  she  is  so  old — fastened 
so  delicately  to  the  brain  and  heart.  The  fastenings 
are  worn  and  loose  now.    Already  she  is  partly  out !  ' 

'  That's  why  she's  so  muddled  in  the  daytime,' 
explained  Jimbo,  for  his  sister's  benefit. 

'  Exaccurately,  I  knew  it  already  !  '  was  the  reply, 
turning  a  somersault  like  a  wheel  of  twirling  meteors 
close  to  the  old  lady's  nose. 


xvi  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        207 

'  Carefully,  now  ! '  said  their  leader.  '  And  hurry 
up  !  There's  not  much  we  can  do  here,  and  there's 
heaps  to  do  elsewhere.  We  must  remember  Mother 
and  Daddy — before  the  Interfering  Sun  is  up,  you 
know.' 

They  flashed  about  the  attic  chamber,  tipping 
everything  with  light,  from  the  bundle  of  clothes 
that  strewed  the  floor  to  the  confused  interior  of  the 
black  basket-trunk  where  she  kept  her  money  and 
papers.  There  were  no  shelves  in  this  attic  chamber ; 
no  room  for  cupboards  either  ;  it  was  the  cheapest 
room  in  the  house.  And  the  old  woman  in  the  bed 
sometimes  opened  her  eyes  and  peered  curiously, 
expectantly,  about  her.  Even  in  her  sleep  she  looked 
for  things.  Almost,  they  felt,  she  seemed  aware  of 
their  presence  near  her,  she  knew  that  they  were 
there  ;  she  smiled. 

A  moment  later  they  were  in  mid-air  on  their  way 
to  the  Citadelle,  singing  as  they  went : — 

He  keeps  that  only 

For  the  old  and  lonely, 

Who  sleep  so  little  that  they  need  the  best. 

The  rest — 

The  common  stuff — 

Is  good  enough 
For  Fr'aulein,  or  for  baby,  or  for  mother, 

Or  any  other 

Who  likes  a  bit  of  dust, 

And  yet  can  do  without  it — 
If  they  must  .  .  . 

Already  something  of  the  Dawn's  faint  magic 
painting  lay  upon  the  world.  Roofs  shone  with  dew. 
The  woods  were  singing,  and  the  flowers  were  awake. 
Birds  piped  and  whistled  shrilly  from  the  orchards. 
They  heard  the  Mer  Dasson  murmuring  along  her 


2o8        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND 


CHAP. 


rocky  bed.     The  rampart  of  the  Alps  stood  out  more 
clearly  against  the  sky. 

'  We  must  be  very  quick,'  Cousin  Henry  flashed 
across  to  them,  '  quicker  than  an  express  train.' 

'  That's  impossible,'  cried  Jimbo,  who  already  felt 
the  call  of  waking  into  his  daily  world.  '  Hark  ! 
There's  whistling  already.   .  .  .' 

The  next  second,  in  a  twinkling,  he  was  gone. 
He  had  left  them.  His  body  had  been  waked  up  by 
the  birds  that  sang  and  whistled  so  loudly  in  the 
plane  tree  outside  his  window.  Monkey  and  her 
guide  raced  on  alone  into  the  very  room  where  he 
now  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes  in  the  Citadelle.  He 
was  telling  his  mother  that  he  had  just  been  '  dream- 
ing extraordinary.'  But  Mother,  sleeping  like  a 
fossil  monster  in  the  Tertiary  strata,  heard  him  not. 

'  He  often  goes  like  that,'  whispered  Monkey  in  a 
tone  of  proud  superiority.  *  He's  only  a  little  boy 
really,  you  see.' 

But  the  sight  they  then  witnessed  was  not  what 
they  expected. 

For  Mademoiselle  Lemaire  herself  was  working 
over  Mother  like  an  engine,  and  Mother  was  still 
sleeping  like  the  dead.  The  radiance  that  emanated 
from  the  night-body  of  this  suffering  woman,  compared 
to  their  own,  was  as  sunlight  is  to  candle-light.  Its 
soft  glory  was  indescribable,  its  purity  quite  unearthly, 
and  the  patterns  that  it  wove  lovely  beyond  all  telling. 
Here  they  surprised  her  in  the  act,  busy  with  her 
ceaseless  activities  for  others,  working  for  the  world 
by  thinking  beauty.  While  her  pain-racked  body  lay 
asleep  in  the  bed  it  had  not  left  for  thirty  years,  nor 
would  ever  leave  again  this  side  of  death,  she  found 
her  real  life  in  loving  sympathy  for  the  pain  of  others 
everywhere.     For  thought  is  prayer,  and   prayer  is 


xvi         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        209 

the  only  true  effective  action  that  leaves  no  detail 
incomplete.  She  thought  light  and  glory  into  others. 
Was  it  any  wonder  that  she  drew  a  special,  brilliant 
supply  from  the  Starlight  Cavern,  when  she  had  so 
much  to  give  ?  For  giving-out  involved  drawing-in 
to  fill  the  emptied  spaces.  Her  pure  and  endless 
sources  of  supply  were  all  explained. 

'  I've  been  working  on  her  for  years,'  she  said 
gently,  looking  round  at  their  approach,  '  for  her  life 
is  so  thickly  overlaid  with  care,  and  the  care  she  never 
quite  knows  how  to  interpret.  We  were  friends,  you 
see,  in  childhood.  .  .  .  You'd  better  hurry  on  to  the 
carpenter's  house.  You'll  find  Jinny  there  doing 
something  for  her  father.'  She  did  not  cease  her 
working  while  she  said  it,  this  practical  mind  so 
familiar  with  the  methods  of  useful  thinking,  this 
loving  heart  so  versed  in  prayer  while  her  broken 
body,  deemed  useless  by  the  world,  lay  in  the  bed 
that  was  its  earthly  prison-house.  '  He  can  give  me 
all  the  help  I  need,'  she  added. 

She  pointed,  and  they  saw  the  figure  of  the  Sweep 
standing  in  the  corner  of  the  room  among  a  pile  of 
brimming  sacks.  His  dirty  face  was  beaming.  They 
heard  him  singing  quietly  to  himself  under  his  breath, 
while  his  feet  and  sooty  hands  marked  time  with  a 
gesture  of  quaintest  dancing  : — 

Such  a  tremendously  busy  Sweep, 
Catching  the  world  when  it's  all  asleep, 
And  tossing  the  blacks  on  the  Rubbish  Heap 
Over  the  edge  of  the  world  ! 

*  Come,'  whispered  Cousin  Henry,  catching  at 
Monkey's  hair,  '  we  can  do  something,  but  we  can't 
do  that.     She  needs  no  help  from  us  !  ' 

They  sped  across  to  the  carpenter's  house  among 
the  vineyards. 


210        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

'  What  a  splendour  ! '  gasped  the  child  as  they 
went.     '  My  starlight  seems  quite  dim  beside  hers.' 

'  She's  an  old  hand  at  the  game,'  he  replied,  noticing 
the  tinge  of  disappointment  in  her  thought.  *  With 
practice,  you  know ' 

*  And  Mummy  must  be  pretty  tough,'  she  inter- 
rupted with  a  laugh,  her  elastic  nature  recovering 
instantly. 

' with    practice,   I    was    going  to    say,   your 

atmosphere  will  get  whiter  too  until  it  simply  shines. 
That's  why  the  saints  have  halos.' 

But  Monkey  did  not  hear  this  last  remark,  she 
was  already  in  her  father's  bedroom,  helping  Jinny. 

Here  there  were  no  complications,  no  need  for 
assistance  from  a  Sweep,  or  Gardener,  or  Lamplighter. 
It  was  a  case  for  pulling,  pure  and  simple.  Daddy 
was  wumbled,  nothing  more.  Body,  mind,  and  heart 
were  all  up-jumbled.  In  making  up  the  verse  about 
the  starlight  he  had  merely  told  the  truth — about 
himself.  The  poem  was  instinctive  and  inspirational 
confession.  His  atmosphere,  as  he  lay  there,  gently 
snoring  in  his  beauty  sleep,  was  clear  and  sweet  and 
bright,  no  darkness  in  it  of  grey  or  ugliness  ;  but  its 
pattern  was  a  muddle,  or  rather  there  were  several 
patterns  that  scrambled  among  each  other  for 
supremacy.  Lovely  patterns  hovered  just  outside 
him,  but  none  of  them  got  really  in.  And  the 
result  was  chaos.  Daddy  was  not  clear  -  headed ; 
there  was  no  concentration.  Something  of  the  per- 
plexed confusion  that  afflicted  his  elder  daughter  in 
the  daytime  mixed  up  the  patterns  inextricably. 
There  was  no  main  pathway  through  his  inner  world. 

And  the  picture  proved  it.  It  explained  why 
Jinny  pulled  in  vain.  His  night -body  came  out 
easily  as  far  as  the  head,  then  stuck  hopelessly.     He 


xvi  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        211 

looked  like  a  knotted  skein  of  coloured  wools.  Upon 
the  paper  where  he  had  been  making  notes  before 
going  to  sleep — for  personal  atmosphere  is  communi- 
cated to  all  its  owner  touches — lay  the  same  confusion. 
Scraps  of  muddle,  odds  and  ends  of  different  patterns, 
hovered  in  thick  blots  of  colour  over  the  paragraphs 
and  sentences.  His  own  uncertainty  was  thus  im- 
parted to  what  he  wrote,  and  his  stories  brought  no 
conviction  to  his  readers.  He  was  too  much  the 
Dreamer,  or  too  much  the  Thinker,  which  of  the 
two  was  not  quite  clear.     Harmony  was  lacking. 

'  That's  probably  what  Vm  like,  too,'  thought  his 
friend,  but  so  softly  that  the  children  did  not  hear 
it.  That  Scheme  of  his  passed  vaguely  through  his 
mind. 

Then  he  cried  louder — a  definite  thought  : — 

1  There's  no  good  tugging  like  that,  my  dears. 
Let  him  slip  in  again.  You'll  only  make  him  rest- 
less, and  give  him  distorted  dreams.' 

'  I've  tugged  like  this  every  night  for  months,' 
said  Jinny,  '  but  the  moment  I  let  go  he  flies  back 
like  elastic' 

'  Of  course.  We  must  first  untie  the  knots  and 
weave  the  patterns  into  one.     Let  go  ! ' 

Daddy's  night-body  flashed  back  like  a  sword  into 
its  sheath.  They  stood  and  watched  him.  He  turned 
a  little  in  his  sleep,  while  above  him  the  lines  twined 
and  wriggled  like  phosphorus  on  moving  water, 
yet  never  shaped  themselves  into  anything  complete. 
They  saw  suggestions  of  pure  beauty  in  them  here 
and  there  that  yet  never  joined  together  into  a  single 
outline  ;  it  was  like  watching  the  foam  against  a 
steamer's  sides  in  moonlight — just  failing  of  coherent 
form. 

*  They  want   combing  out,'  declared  Jane   Anne 


2i2        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND 


CHAP. 


with  a  brilliant  touch  of  truth.     « A  rake  would  be 
best.' 

'Assorting,  sifting,  separating,'  added  Cousin- 
enry,  '  but  it's  not  easy.'  He  thought  deeply 
for  a  moment.  'Suppose  you  two  attend  to  the 
other  things,'  he  said  presently,  '  while  I  take  charge 
of  the  combing-out.' 

They  knew  at  once  his  meaning  ;  it  was  begun  as 
soon  as  thought,  only  they  could  never  have  thought 
of  it  alone  ;  none  but  a  leader  with  real  sympathy  in 
his  heart  could  have  discovered  the  way. 

Like  Fairies,  lit  internally  with  shining  lanterns, 
they  flew  about  their  business.  Monkey  picked  up 
his  pencils  and  dipped  their  points  into  her  store  of 
starlight,  while  Jinny  drew  the  cork  out  of  his  ink- 
pot and  blew  in  soft-shiny  radiance  of  her  own. 
They  soaked  his  books  in  it,  and  smoothed  his  paper 
out  with  their  fingers  of  clean  gold.  His  note-books, 
chair,  and  slippers,  his  smoking-coat  and  pipes  and 
tobacco-tins,  his  sponge,  his  tooth-brush  and  his  soap 
— everything  from  dressing-gown  to  dictionary,  they 
spread  thickly  with  their  starlight,  and  continued 
until  the  various  objects  had  drunk  in  enough  to 
make  them  shine  alone. 

Then  they  attacked  the  walls  and  floor  and  ceiling, 
sheets  and  bed-clothes.  They  filled  the  tin-bath  full 
to  the  very  brim,  painted  as  well  the  windows,  door- 
handles, and  the  wicker  chair  in  which  they  knew  he 
dozed  after  dijeuner.  But  with  the  pencils,  pens, 
and  ink-pots  they  took  most  trouble,  doing  them  very 
thoroughly  indeed.  And  his  enormous  mountain- 
boots  received  generous  treatment  too,  for  in  these 
he  went  for  his  long  lonely  walks  when  he  thought 
out  his  stories  among  the  woods  and  valleys,  coming 
home  with  joy  upon  his  face — '  I  got  a  splendid  idea 


xvi  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        213 

to-day — a  magnificent  story — if  only  I  can  get  it  on 
to  paper  before  it's  gone.  .  .  I '  They  understood 
his  difficulty  now  :  the  '  idea  '  was  wumbled  before 
he  could  fashion  it.  He  could  not  get  the  pattern 
through  complete. 

And  his  older  friend,  working  among  the  dis- 
jointed patterns,  saw  his  trouble  clearly  too.  It  was 
not  that  he  lacked  this  sympathy  that  starlight  brings, 
but  that  he  applied  it  without  discernment.  The 
receiving  instrument  was  out  of  order,  some  parts 
moving  faster  than  others.  Reason  and  imagination 
were  not  exaccurately  adjusted.  He  gathered  plenty 
in,  but  no  clear  stream  issued  forth  again  ;  there  was 
confusion  in  delivery.  The  rays  were  twisted,  the 
golden  lines  caught  into  knots  and  tangles.  Yet, 
ever  just  outside  him,  waiting  to  be  taken  in,  hovered 
these  patterns  of  loveliness  that  might  bring  joy  to 
thousands.  They  floated  in  beauty  round  the  edges 
of  his  atmosphere,  but  the  moment  they  sank  in  to 
reach  his  mind,  there  began  the  distortion  that  tore 
their  exquisite  proportions  and  made  designs  mere 
disarrangement.  Inspiration,  without  steady  thought 
to  fashion  it,  was  of  no  value. 

He  worked  with  infinite  pains  to  disentangle  the 
mass  of  complicated  lines,  and  one  knot  after  another 
yielded  and  slipped  off  into  rivulets  of  gold,  all 
pouring  inwards  to  reach  heart  and  brain.  It  was 
exhilarating,  yet  disappointing  labour.  New  knots 
formed  themselves  so  easily,  yet  in  the  end  much 
surely  had  been  accomplished.  Channels  had  been 
cleared  ;  repetition  would  at  length  establish  habit. 

But  the  line  of  light  along  the  eastern  horizon 
had  been  swiftly  growing  broader  meanwhile.  It 
was  brightening  into  delicate  crimson.  Already  the 
room  was   clearer,  and  the  radiance  of  their  bodies 


2i4        A  PRISONER   IN   FAIRYLAND       chap. 

fading  into  a  paler  glory.  Jane  Anne  grew  clumsier, 
tumbling  over  things,  and  butting  against  her  more 
agile  sister.  Her  thoughts  became  more  muddled. 
She  said  things  from  time  to  time  that  showed  it — 
hints  that  waking  was  not  far  away. 

'  Daddy's  a  wumbled  Laplander,  you  know,  after 
all.  Hurry  up  ! '  The  foolish  daylight  speech  came 
closer. 

*  Give  his  ink-pot  one  more  blow,'  cried  Monkey. 
Her  body  always  slept  at  least  an  hour  longer  than 
the  others.     She  had  more  time  for  work. 

Jane  Anne  bumped  into  the  washhand-stand.  She 
no  longer  saw  quite  clearly. 

*  I'm  a  plenipotentiary,  that's  what  I  am.  I'm 
afraid  of  nothing.  But  the  porridge  has  to  be  made. 
I  must  get  back.  .  .   .' 

She  vanished  like  a  flash,  just  as  her  brother  had 
vanished  half  an  hour  before. 

'  We'll  go  on  with  it  to-morrow  night,'  signalled 
Cousin  Henry  to  his  last  remaining  helper.  '  Meet 
me  here,  remember,  when  .  .  .  the  moon  ...  is 
high  enough  to  .  .  .  cast  .  .  .  a  .  .  .  shadow.  .  .  .' 

The  opening  and  shutting  of  a  door  sounded 
through  his  sleep.  He  turned  over  heavily.  Surely 
it  was  not  time  to  get  up  yet.  That  could  not  be 
hot  water  coming  !  He  had  only  just  fallen  asleep. 
He  plunged  back  again  into  slumber. 

But  Monkey  had  disappeared. 

'  What  a  spanking  dream  I've  had.  .  .  ! '  Her 
eyes  opened,  and  she  saw  her  school-books  on  the 
chair  beside  the  bed.  Mother  was  gently  shaking  her 
out  of  sleep.  '  Six  o'clock,  darling.  The  bath  is 
ready,  and  Jinny's  nearly  got  the  porridge  done.  It's 
a  lovely  morning  ! ' 

«  Oh,  Mummy,  I ' 


xvi         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        215 

But  Mummy  lifted  her  bodily  out  of  bed,  kissed 
her  sleepy  eyes  awake,  and  half  carried  her  over  to 
the  bath.  'You  can  tell  me  all  about  that  later,' 
she  said  with  practical  decision  ;  '  when  the  cold 
water's  cleared  your  head.  You're  always  fuzzy 
when  you  wake.' 

Another  day  had  begun.  The  sun  was  blazing 
high  above  the  Blilmlisalp.  The  birds  sang  in  chorus. 
Dew  shone  still  on  the  fields,  but  the  men  were  already 
busy  in  the  vineyards. 

And  presently  Cousin  Henry  woke  too  and  stared 
lazily  about  his  room.     He  looked  at  his  watch. 

'  By  Jove,'  he  murmured.  '  How  one  does  sleep 
in  this  place  !  And  what  a  dream  to  be  sure — I  who 
never  dream  ! ' 

He  remembered  nothing  more.  From  the  moment 
he  closed  his  eyes,  eight  hours  before,  until  this  second, 
all  was  a  delicious  blank.  He  felt  refreshed  and 
wondrously  light-hearted,  at  peace  with  all  the  world. 
There  was  music  in  his  head.  He  began  to  whistle 
as  he  lay  among  the  blankets  for  half  an  hour  longer. 
And  later,  while  he  breakfasted  alone  downstairs,  he 
remembered  that  he  ought  to  write  to  Minks.  He 
owed  Minks  a  letter.  And  before  going  out  into 
the  woods  he  wrote  it.  '  I'm  staying  on  a  bit,'  he 
mentioned  at  the  end.  «  I  find  so  much  to  do  here, 
and  it's  such  a  rest.  Meanwhile  I  can  leave  every- 
thing safely  in  your  hands.  But  as  soon  as  I  get  a 
leisure  moment  I'll  send  you  the  promised  draft  of 
my  Scheme  for  Disabled,  etc.,  etc' 

But  the  Scheme  got  no  further  somehow.  New 
objections,  for  one  thing,  kept  cropping  up  in  his 
mind.  It  would  take  so  long  to  build  the  place, 
and  find  the  site,  satisfy  County  Councils,  and  all 
the  rest.    The  Disabled,  moreover,  were  everywhere  ; 


2i 6        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND    ch.xvi 

it  was  invidious  to  select  one  group  and  leave  the 
others  out.  Help  the  world,  yes— but  what  was 
'  the  world  '  ?  There  were  so  many  worlds.  He 
touched  a  new  one  every  day  and  every  hour. 
Which  needed  his  help  most  ?  Bourcelles  was  quite 
as  important,  quite  as  big  and  hungry  as  any  of  the 
others.  '  That  old  Vicar  knew  a  thing  or  two/  he 
reflected  later  in  the  forest,  while  he  gathered  a  bunch 
of  hepaticas  and  anemones  to  take  to  Mile.  Lemaire. 
'  There  are  "  neighbours  "  everywhere,  the  world's 
simply  chock  full  of  'em.  But  what  a  pity  that 
we  die  just  when  we're  getting  fit  and  ready  to 
begin.  Perhaps  we  go  on  afterwards,  though.  I 
wonder.  .  .  ! ' 


CHAPTER   XVII 

The  stars  ran  loose  about  the  sky, 
Wasting  their  beauty  recklessly, 

Singing  and  dancing, 

Shooting  and  prancing, 
Until  the  Pole  Star  took  command, 
Changing  each  wild,  disordered  band 
Into  a  lamp  to  guide  the  land — 
A  constellation. 

And  so,  about  my  mind  and  yours, 

Thought  dances,  shoots,  and  wastes  its  powers, 

Coming  and  going, 

Aimlessly  flowing, 
Until  the  Pole  Star  of  the  Will 
Captains  them  wisely,  strong,  and  still, 
Some  dream  for  others  to  fulfil 
With  consecration. 

Selected  Poems,  Montmorency  Minics. 

There  was  a  certain  air  of  unreality  somewhere  in 
the  life  at  Bourcelles  that  ministered  to  fantasy. 
Rogers  had  felt  it  steal  over  him  from  the  beginning. 
It  was  like  watching  a  children's  play  in  which  the 
scenes  were  laid  alternately  in  the  Den,  the  Pension, 
and  the  Forest.  Side  by  side  with  the  grim  stern 
facts  of  existence  ran  the  coloured  spell  of  fairy 
make-believe.  It  was  the  way  they  mingled,  perhaps, 
that  ministered  to  this  spirit  of  fantasy. 

There  were  several  heroines  for  instance — Tante 
Jeanne,  Mademoiselle  Lemaire,  and  Mother  ;  each 
played  her  role  quite  admirably.  There  were  the 
worthy  sterling  men  who  did  their  duty  dumbly, 
regardless  of  consequences — Daddy,  the  Postmaster, 

217 


218        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

and  the  picturesque  old  clergyman  with  failing  powers. 
There  was  the  dark,  uncertain  male  character,  who 
might  be  villain,  yet  who  might  prove  extra  hero — 
the  strutting  postman  of  baronial  ancestry  ;  there 
was  the  r61e  of  quaint  pathetic  humour  Miss  Wag- 
horn  so  excellently  filled,  and  there  were  the  honest 
rough-and-tumble  comedians — half  mischievous,  half 
malicious — the  retired  governesses.  Behind  them 
all,  brought  on  chiefly  in  scenes  of  dusk  and  moon- 
light, were  the  Forest  Elves  who,  led  by  Puck, 
were  responsible  for  the  temporary  confusion  that 
threatened  disaster,  yet  was  bound  to  have  a  happy 
ending — the  children.  It  was  all  a  children's  play 
set  in  the  lovely  scenery  of  mountain,  forest,  lake, 
and  old-world  garden. 

Numerous  other  characters  also  flitted  in  and  out. 
There  was  the  cat,  the  bird,  the  donkey  as  in 
pantomime  ;  goblin  caves  and  haunted  valleys  and 
talking  flowers  ;  and  the  queer  shadowy  folk  who 
came  to  the  Pension  in  the  summer  months,  then 
vanished  into  space  again.  Links  with  the  outside 
world  were  by  no  means  lacking.  As  in  the  theatre, 
one  caught  now  and  again  the  rumble  of  street 
traffic  and  the  roar  or  everyday  concerns.  But  these 
fell  in  by  chance  during  quiet  intervals,  and  served  to 
heighten  contrast  only. 

And  so  many  of  the  principal  r61es  were  almost 
obviously  assumed,  interchangeable  almost  ;  any 
day  the  players  might  drop  their  wigs,  rub  off  the 
paint,  and  appear  otherwise,  as  they  were  in  private 
life.  The  Widow  Jequier's  husband,  for  instance,  had 
been  a  pasteur  who  had  gone  later  into  the  business 
of  a  wine-merchant.  She  herself  was  not  really  the 
keeper  of  a  Pension  for  Jeune  Filles,  but  had  drifted 
into  it  owing  to  her  husband's  disastrous  descent  from 


xvii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        219 

pulpit  into  cellar — understudy  for  some  one  who 
had  forgotten  to  come  on.  The  Postmaster,  too, 
had  originally  been  a  photographer,  whose  funereal 
aspect  had  sealed  his  failure  in  that  line.  His 
customers  could  never  smile  and  look  pleasant.  The 
postman,  again,  was  a  baron  in  disguise — in  private 
life  he  had  a  castle  and  retainers  ;  and  even  Gygi,  the 
gendarme,  was  a  make-believe  official  who  behind  the 
scenes  was  a  vigneron  and  farmer  in  a  very  humble 
way.  Daddy,  too,  seemed  sometimes  but  a  tinsel 
author  dressed  up  for  the  occasion,  and  absurdly  busy 
over  books  that  no  one  ever  saw  on  railway  book- 
stalls. While  Mademoiselle  Lemaire  was  not  in 
fact  and  verity  a  suffering,  patient,  bed-ridden  lady, 
but  a  princess  who  escaped  from  her  disguise  at  night 
into  glory  and  great  beneficent  splendour. 

Mother  alone  was  more  real  than  the  other 
players.  There  was  no  make-believe  about  Mother. 
She  thundered  across  the  stage  and  stood  before  the 
footlights,  interrupting  many  a  performance  with  her 
stubborn  common-sense  and  her  grip  upon  difficult 
grave  issues.  '  This  performance  will  finish  at  such 
and  such  an  hour,'  was  her  cry.  '  Get  your  wraps 
ready.  It  will  be  cold  when  you  go  out.  And  see 
that  you  have  money  handy  for  your  'bus  fares 
home  !  '  Yes,  Mother  was  real.  She  knew  some 
facts  of  life  at  least.  She  knitted  the  children's 
stockings  and  did  the  family  mending. 

Yet  Rogers  felt,  even  with  her,  that  she  was 
merely  waiting.  She  knew  the  cast  was  not  complete 
as  yet.  She  waited.  They  all  waited — for  some  one. 
These  were  rehearsals  ;  Rogers  himself  had  dropped 
in  also  merely  as  an  understudy.  Another  r61e  was 
vacant,  and  it  was  the  principal  r61e.  There  was  no 
one  in  the  company   who   could   play  it,  none  who 


CHAP. 


220        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND 

could  understudy  it  even.  Neither  Rogers  nor 
Daddy  could  learn  the  lines  or  do  the  'business.' 
The  part  was  a  very  important  one,  calling  for  a 
touch  of  genius  to  be  filled  adequately.  And  it  was 
a  feminine  role.  For  here  was  a  Fairy  Play  with- 
out a  Fairy  Queen.  There  was  not  even  a  Fairy 
Princess  ! 

This  idea  of  a  representation,  all  prepared  specially 
for  himself,  induced  a  very  happy  state  of  mind  ;  he 
felt  restful,  calm,  at  peace  with  all  the  world.  He 
had  only  to  sit  in  his  stall  and  enjoy.  But  it  brought, 
too,  this  sense  of  delicate  bewilderment  that  was  con- 
tinually propounding  questions  to  which  he  found 
no  immediate  answer.  With  the  rest  of  the  village, 
he  stood  still  while  Time  flowed  past  him.  Later, 
with  Minks,  he  would  run  after  it  and  catch  it  up 
again.  Minks  would  pick  out  the  lost  clues.  Minks 
stood  on  the  banks — in  London — noting  the  ques- 
tions floating  by  and  landing  them  sometimes  with  a 
rod  and  net.  His  master  would  deal  with  them  by 
and  by  ;  but  just  now  he  could  well  afford  to  wait 
and  enjoy  himself.  It  was  a  holiday  ;  there  was  no 
hurry  ;  Minks  held  the  fort  meanwhile  and  sent  in 
reports  at  intervals. 

And  the  sweet  spring  weather  continued  ;  days 
were  bright  and  warm  ;  the  nights  were  thick  with 
stars.  Rogers  postponed  departure  on  the  flimsiest 
reasons.  It  was  no  easy  thing  to  leave  Bourcelles. 
'  Next  week  the  muguetv/Wl  be  over  in  the  vallon  vert. 
We  must  pick  it  quickly  together  for  Tante  Anna.' 
Jinny  brought  every  spring  flower  to  Mademoiselle 
Lemaire  in  this  way  the  moment  they  appeared.  Her 
room  was  a  record  of  their  sequence  from  week  to 
week.  And  Jimbo  knew  exactly  where  to  find  them 
first ;  his  mind  was  a  time-table  of  flowers  as  well  as 


xvi,         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        221 

of  trains,  dates  of  arrival,  and  stations  where  they 
grew.  He  knew  it  all  exaccurately.  This  kind  of 
fact  with  him  was  never  wumbled.  '  Soon  the  sabot 
de  Venus  will  be  in  flower  at  the  Creux  du  Van,  but 
it  takes  time  to  find  it.  It's  most  awfully  rare,  you 
see.  You'll  have  to  climb  beyond  the  fontaine froide. 
That's  past  the  Ferme  Robert,  between  Champ  du 
Moulin  and  Noiraigue.  The  snow  ought  to  be  gone 
by  now.  We'll  go  and  hunt  for  it.  I'll  take  you 
in — oh,  in  about  deux  semaines — comme  ca.'  Alone, 
those  dangerous  cliffs  were  out  of  bounds  for  him, 
but  if  he  went  with  Cousinenry,  permission  could 
not  be  refused.  Jimbo  knew  what  he  was  about. 
And  he  took  for  granted  that  his  employer  would 
never  leave  Bourcelles  again.  '  Thursday  and  Satur- 
day would  be  the  best  days,'  he  added.  They  were 
his  half-holidays,  but  he  did  not  say  so.  Secretaries, 
he  knew,  did  not  have  half-holidays  comme  ca.  '  Je 
suis  son  vrai  secretaire,'  he  had  told  Mademoiselle 
Lemaire,  who  had  confirmed  it  with  a  grave  rnais 
oui.  No  one  but  Mother  heard  the  puzzled  ques- 
tion one  night  when  he  was  being  tucked  into  bed  ; 
it  was  asked  with  just  a  hint  of  shame  upon  a  very 
puckered  little  face  —  '  But,  Mummy,  what  really  is 
a  sekrity  ? ' 

And  so  Rogers,  from  day  to  day,  stayed  on, 
enjoying  himself  and  resting.  The  City  would  have 
called  it  loafing,  but  in  the  City  the  schedule  of 
values  was  a  different  one.  Meanwhile  the  bewilder- 
ment he  felt  at  first  gradually  disappeared.  He  no 
longer  realised  it,  that  is.  While  still  outside, 
attacked  by  it,  he  had  realised  the  soft  entanglement. 
Now  he  was  in  it,  caught  utterly,  a  prisoner.  He 
was  no  longer  mere  observer.  He  was  part  and 
parcel  of  it.      '  What  does  a  few  weeks  matter  out  of 


222       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND 


CRAP. 


a  whole  strenuous  life  ? '  he  argued.  *  It's  all  to  the 
good,  this  holiday.  I'm  storing  up  strength  and 
energy  for  future  use.  My  Scheme  can  wait  a  little. 
I'm  thinking  things  out  meanwhile.' 

He  often  went  into  the  forest  alone  to  think  his 
things  out,  and  '  things  '  always  meant  his  Scheme  .  .  . 
but  the  more  he  thought  about  it  the  more  distant 
and  impracticable  seemed  that  wondrous  Scheme. 
He  had  the  means,  the  love,  the  yearning,  all  in  good 
condition,  waiting  to  be  put  to  practical  account.  In 
his  mind,  littered  more  and  more  now  with  details 
that  Minks  not  infrequently  sent  in,  this  great  Scheme 
by  which  he  had  meant  to  help  the  world  ran  into 
the  confusion  of  new  issues  that  were  continually 
cropping  up.  Most  of  these  were  caused  by  the 
difficulty  of  knowing  his  money  spent  exactly  as  he 
wished,  not  wasted,  no  pound  of  it  used  for  adorn- 
ment, whether  salaries,  uniforms,  fancy  stationery, 
or  unnecessary  appearances,  whatever  they  might 
be.  Whichever  way  he  faced  it,  and  no  matter  how 
carefully  thought  out  were  the  plans  that  Minks 
devised,  these  leakages  cropped  up  and  mocked  him. 
Among  a  dozen  propositions  his  original  clear  idea 
went  lost,  and  floundered.  It  came  perilously  near 
to  wumbling  itself  away  altogether. 

For  one  thing,  there  were  rivals  on  the  scene — 
his  cousin's  family,  the  education  of  these  growing 
children,  the  difficulties  of  the  Widow  Jequier,  some 
kind  of  security  he  might  ensure  to  old  Miss 
Waghorn,  the  best  expert  medical  attendance  for 
Mademoiselle  Lemaire  .  .  .  and  his  fortune  was 
after  all  a  small  one  as  fortunes  go.  Only  his  simple 
scale  of  personal  living  could  make  these  things 
possible  at  all.  Yet  here,  at  least,  he  would  know 
that   every   penny  went  exaccurately  where    it    was 


xvii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        223 

meant  to  go,  and  accomplished  the  precise  purpose  it 
was  intended  to  accomplish. 

And  the  more  he  thought  about  it,  the  more 
insistent  grew  the  claims  of  little  Bourcelles,  and  the 
more  that  portentous  Scheme  for  Disabled  Thingu- 
mabobs faded  into  dimness.  The  old  Vicar's  words 
kept  singing  in  his  head  :  '  The  world  is  full  of 
Neighbours.  Bring  them  all  back  to  Fairyland.' 
He  thought  things  out  in  his  own  way  and  at  his 
leisure.  He  loved  to  wander  alone  among  the 
mountains  .  .  .  thinking  in  this  way.  His  thoughts 
turned  to  his  cousin's  family,  their  expenses,  their 
difficulties,  the  curious  want  of  harmony  somewhere. 
For  the  conditions  in  which  the  famille  anglaise 
existed,  he  had  soon  discovered,  were  those  of  muddle 
pure  and  simple,  yet  of  muddle  on  so  large  a  scale 
that  it  was  fascinating  and  even  exhilarating.  It 
must  be  lovely,  he  reflected,  to  live  so  carelessly. 
They  drifted.  Chance  forces  blew  them  hither  and 
thither  as  gusts  of  wind  blow  autumn  leaves.  Five 
years  in  a  place  and  then — a  gust  that  blew  them 
elsewhere.  Thus  they  had  lived  five  years  in  a 
London  suburb,  thinking  it  permanent  ;  five  years 
in  a  lonely  Essex  farm,  certain  they  would  never 
abandon  country  life  ;  and  five  years,  finally,  in  the 
Jura  forests. 

Neither  parent,  though  each  was  estimable,  worthy, 
and  entirely  of  good  repute,  had  the  smallest  faculty 
for  seeing  life  whole  ;  each  studied  closely  a  small 
fragment  of  it,  the  fragment  limited  by  the  Monday 
and  the  Saturday  of  next  week,  or,  in  moments  of 
optimistic  health,  the  fragment  that  lies  between  the 
first  and  thirty-first  of  a  single  month.  Of  what  lay 
beyond,  they  talked  ;  oh,  yes, they  talked  voluminously 
and  with  detail  that  sounded  impressive  to  a  listener, 


224        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chaf 

but  somehow  in  circles  that  carried  them  no  further 
than  the  starting-point,  or  in  spirals  that  rose  higher 
with  each  sentence  and  finally  lifted  them  bodily 
above  the  solid  ground.  It  was  merely  talk. — 
ineffective — yet  the  kind  that  makes  one  feel  it  has 
accomplished  something  and  so  brings  the  false 
security  of  carelessness  again.  Neither  one  nor 
other  was  head  of  the  house.  They  took  it  in  turns, 
each  slipping  by  chance  into  that  onerous  position, 
supported  but  uncoveted  by  the  other.  Mother  fed 
the  children,  mended  everything,  sent  them  to  the 
dentist  when  their  teeth  ached  badly,  but  never  before 
as  a  preventative,  and — trusted  to  luck. 

'  Daddy,'  she  would  say  in  her  slow  gentle  way, 
1 1  do  wish  we  could  be  more  practical  sometimes. 
Life  is  such  a  business,  isn't  it  ? '  And  they  would 
examine  in  detail  the  grain  of  the  stable  door  now 
that  the  horse  had  escaped,  then  close  it  very 
carefully. 

'  I  really  must  keep  books,'  he  would  answer, 
'  so  that  we  can  see  exactly  how  we  stand,'  having 
discovered  at  the  end  of  laborious  calculation  con- 
cerning the  cost  of  the  proposed  Geneva  schooling 
for  Jinny  that  they  had  reckoned  in  shillings  instead 
of  francs.  And  then,  with  heads  together,  they 
selected  for  their  eldest  boy  a  profession  utterly 
unsuited  to  his  capacities,  with  coaching  expenses  far 
beyond  their  purses,  and  with  the  comforting 
consideration  that  '  there's  a  pension  attached  to  it, 
you  see,  for  when  he's  old.' 

Similarly,  having  planned  minutely,  and  with 
personal  sacrifice,  to  save  five  francs  in  one  direction, 
they  would  spend  that  amount  unnecessarily  in 
another.  They  felt  they  had  it  to  spend,  as  though 
it  had  been  just  earned  and  already  jingled  in  their 


xvii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        225 

pockets.  Daddy  would  announce  he  was  walking 
into  Neuchatel  to  buy  tobacco.  '  Better  take  the 
tram,'  suggested  Mother,  '  it's  going  to  rain.  You 
save  shoe  leather,  too,'  she  added  laughingly.  '  Will 
you  be  back  to  tea  ?  '  He  thought  not  ;  he  would 
get  a  cup  of  tea  in  town.  '  May  I  come,  too  ? '  from 
Jimbo.  '  Why  not  ? '  thought  Mother.  '  Take  him 
with  you,  he'll  enjoy  the  trip.'  Monkey  and  Jane 
Ann,  of  course,  went  too.  They  all  had  tea  in  a 
shop,  and  bought  chocolate  into  the  bargain.  The 
five  francs  melted  into — nothing,  for  tea  at  home 
was  included  in  their  Pension  terms.  Saving  is  in 
the  mind.     There  was  no  system  in  their  life. 

{ It  would  be  jolly,  yes,  if  you  could  earn  a  little 
something  regular  besides  your  work,'  agreed  Mother, 
when  he  thought  of  learning  a  typewriter  to  copy  his 
own  books,  and  taking  in  work  to  copy  for  others 
too. 

'  I'll  do  it,'  he  decided  with  enthusiasm  that  was 
forgotten  before  he  left  the  room  ten  minutes  later. 

It  was  the  same  with  the  suggestion  of  teaching 
English.  He  had  much  spare  time,  and  could  easily 
have  earned  a  pound  a  week  by  giving  lessons,  and  a 
pound  a  week  is  fifty  pounds  a  year — enough  to 
dress  the  younger  children  easily.  The  plan  was 
elaborated  laboriously.  '  Of  course,'  agreed  Daddy, 
with  genuine  interest.  '  It's  easily  done.  I  wonder 
we  never  thought  of  it  before.'  Every  few  months 
they  talked  about  it,  but  it  never  grew  an  inch  nearer 
to  accomplishment.  They  drifted  along,  ever  in 
difficulty,  each  secretly  blaming  the  other,  yet  never 
putting  their  thoughts  into  speech.  They  did  not 
quite  understand  each  other's  point  of  view. 

'  Mother  really  might  have  foreseen  that !  '  when 
Jimbo,  growing  like  a  fairy  beanstalk,  rendered  his 

Q 


226        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

recent  clothes   entirely   useless.     '  Boys  must   grow. 
Why  didn't  she  buy  the  things  a  size  or  two  larger  ? ' 

'  It's  rather  thoughtless,  almost  selfish,  of  Daddy 
to  go  on  writing  these  books  that  bring  in  praise 
without  money.  He  could  write  anything  if  he 
chose.  At  least,  he  might  put  his  shoulder  to  the 
wheel  and  teach,  or  something  ! ' 

And    so,    not    outwardly    in    spoken    words    or 
quarrels,    but   inwardly,  owing   to   that  deadliest  of 
cancers,    want    of    sympathy,    these    two     excellent 
grown-up  children  had  moved  with  the  years  further 
and  further  apart.     Love  had  not  died,  but  want  of 
understanding,  not  attended  to  in  time,  had  frayed 
the  edges  so  that  they  no  longer  fitted  well  together. 
They   have  blown   in  here,  thought    Rogers   as   he 
watched    them,   like    seeds    the   wind    has    brought. 
They  have  taken  root  and  grown  a  bit.     They  think 
they're  here  for  ever,  but  presently  a  wind  will  rise 
and  blow  them  off  again  elsewhere.     And  thinking 
it  is  their  own  act,  they  will  look  wisely  at  each  other, 
as  children  do,  and  say,  '  Yes,  it  is  time  now  to  make 
a  move.     The  children  are  getting  big.     Our  health, 
too,  needs  a  change.'     He  wondered,  smiling  a  little, 
in  what  vale  or  mountain  top  the  wind  would  let 
them  down.      And  a  big  decision  blazed  up  in  his 
heart.     '  I'm  not  very  strong  in  the  domestic  line,' 
he  exclaimed,  '  but  I  think  I  can  help  them  a  bit. 
They're  neighbours  at  any  rate.     They're  all  children 
too.     Daddy's  no  older  than  Jimbo,  or  Mother  than 
Jane  Anne  !  ' 
. 
In   the   spaces  of  the  forest  there  was  moss  and 
sunshine.      It  was  very  still.      The   primroses  and 
anemones  had  followed  the  hepaticas  and  periwinkles. 
Patches    of  lily   of    the    valley   filled    the   air  with 


xvii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        227 

fragrance.  Through  openings  of  the  trees  he  caught 
glimpses  of  the  lake,  deep  as  the  Italian  blue  of  the 
sky  above  his  head.  White  Alps  hung  in  the  air 
beyond  its  farther  shore  line.  Below  him,  already 
far  away,  the  village  followed  slowly,  bringing  its 
fields  and  vineyards  with  it,  until  the  tired  old  church 
called  halt.  And  then  it  lay  back,  nestling  down 
to  sleep,  very  small,  very  cosy,  mere  handful  of 
brown  roofs  among  the  orchards.  Only  the  blue 
smoke  of  occasional  peat  fires  moved  here  and  there, 
betraying  human  occupation. 

The  peace  and  beauty  sank  into  his  heart,  as  he 
wandered  higher  across  Mont  Racine's  velvet  shoulder. 
And  the  contrast  stirred  memories  of  his  recent 
London  life.  He  thought  of  the  scurrying  busy- 
bodies  in  the  '  City,'  and  he  thought  of  the  Widow 
Jequier  attacking  life  so  restlessly  in  her  garden  at 
that  very  minute.  That  other  sentence  of  the  old 
Vicar  floated  though  his  mind  :  '  the  grandeur  of  toil 
and  the  insignificance  of  acquisition.'  .  .  .  Far 
overhead  two  giant  buzzards  circled  quietly, 
ceaselessly  watching  from  the  blue.  A  brimstone 
butterfly  danced  in  random  flight  before  his  face. 
Two  cuckoos  answered  one  another  in  the  denser 
forest  somewhere  above  him.  Bells  from  distant 
village  churches  boomed  softly  through  the  air,  voices 
from  a  world  forgotten. 

And  the  contrast  brought  back  London.  He 
thought  of  the  long  busy  chapter  of  his  life  just 
finished.  The  transition  had  been  so  abrupt.  As  a 
rule  periods  fade  into  one  another  gradually  in  life, 
easily,  divisions  blurred  ;  it  is  difficult  on  looking 
back  to  say  where  the  change  began.  One  is  well 
into  the  new  before  the  old  is  realised  as  left  behind. 
'  How  did  I  come  to  this  ? '  the  mind  asks  itself.     *  I 


228        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

don't  remember  any  definite  decision.  Where  was 
the  boundary  crossed  ? '  It  has  been  imperceptibly 
accomplished. 

But  here  the  change  had  been  sudden  and  complete, 
no  shading  anywhere.  He  had  leaped  a  wall. 
Turmoil  and  confusion  lay  on  that  side  ;  on  this  lay 
peace,  rest  and  beauty.  Strain  and  ugliness  were 
left  behind,  and  with  them  so  much  that  now  seemed 
false,  unnecessary,  vain.  The  grandeur  of  toil,  and 
the  insignificance  of  acquisition — the  phrase  ran 
through  his  mind  with  the  sighing  of  the  pine  trees  ; 
it  was  like  the  first  line  of  a  song.  The  Vicar  knew 
the  song  complete.  Even  Minks,  perhaps,  could  pipe 
it  too.  Rogers  was  learning  it.  '  I  must  help  them 
somehow,'  he  thought  again.  '  It's  not  a  question  of 
money  merely.  It's  that  they  want  welding  together 
more — more  harmony — more  sympathy.  They're 
separate  bits  of  a  puzzle  now,  whereas  they  might 
be  a  rather  big  and  lovely  pattern.   .  .  .' 

He  lay  down  upon  the  moss  and  flung  his  hat 
away.  He  felt  that  Life  stood  still  within  him, 
watching,  waiting,  asking  beautiful,  deep,  searching 
questions.  It  made  him  slightly  uncomfortable. 
Henry  Rogers,  late  of  Threadneedle  Street,  took 
stock  of  himself,  not  of  set  intention,  yet  somehow 
deliberately.  He  reviewed  another  Henry  Rogers 
who  had  been  unable  to  leap  that  wall.  The  two 
peered  at  one  another  gravely. 

The  review,  however,  took  no  definite  form  ; 
precise  language  hardly  came  to  help  with  definite 
orders.  A  vague  procession  of  feelings,  half  sad, 
half  pleasurable,  floated  past  his  closing  eyes.  .  .  . 
Perhaps  he  slept  a  moment  in  the  sunshine  upon 
that  bed  of  moss  and  pine  needles.  .  .  . 

Such   curious   thoughts   flowed   up   and   out   and 


Xvii         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        229 

round  about,  dancing  like  the  brimstone  butterflies 
out  of  reach  before  he  could  seize  them,  calling  with 
voices  like  the  cuckoos,  themselves  all  the  time  just 
out  of  sight.  Who  ever  saw  a  cuckoo  when  it's 
talking  ?  Who  ever  foretold  the  instant  when  a 
butterfly  would  shoot  upwards  and  away  ?  Such 
darting,  fragile  thoughts  they  were,  like  hints,  sug- 
gestions.    Still,  they  were  thoughts. 

Minks,  dragging  behind  him  an  enormous  Scheme, 
emerged  from  the  dark  vaults  of  a  Bank  where  gold 
lay  piled  in  heaps.  Minks  was  looking  for  him,  yet 
smiling  a  little,  almost  pityingly,  as  he  strained  be- 
neath the  load.  It  was  like  a  comic  opera.  Minks 
was  going  down  the  noisy,  crowded  Strand.  Then, 
suddenly,  he  paused,  uncertain  of  the  way.  From 
an  upper  window  a  shining  face  popped  out  and 
issued  clear  directions — as  from  a  pulpit.  '  That 
way — towards  the  river,'  sang  the  voice — and  far 
down  the  narrow  side  street  flashed  a  gleam  of 
flowing  water  with  orchards  on  the  farther  bank. 
Minks  instantly  turned  and'  went  down  it  with  his 
load  so  fast  that  the  scenery  changed  before  the 
heavy  traffic  could  get  out  of  the  way.  Everything 
got  muddled  up  with  fields  and  fruit-trees  ;  the 
Scheme  changed  into  a  mass  of  wild-flowers  ;  a  lame 
boy  knocked  it  over  with  his  crutch  ;  gold  fell  in  a 
brilliant,  singing  shower,  and  where  each  sovereign 
fell  there  sprang  up  a  buttercup  or  dandelion.  Rogers 
rubbed  his  eyes  .  .  .  and  realised  that  the  sun  was 
rather  hot  upon  his  face.  A  dragon  fly  was  perched 
upon  his  hat  three  feet  away.   .   .   . 

The  tea  hour  at  the  Den  was  close,  and  Jimbo,  no 
doubt,  was  already  looking  for  him  at  the  carpenter's 
house.  Rogers  hurried  home  among  the  silent  forest 
ways    that   were    sweet  with    running    shadows   and 


230        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

slanting  sunshine.  Oh,  how  fragrant  was  the  evening 
air  !  And  how  the  lily  of  the  valley  laughed  up  in 
his  face  !  Normally,  at  this  time,  he  would  be  sitting 
in  a  taxi,  hurrying  noisily  towards  his  Club,  thoughts 
full  of  figures,  politics,  philanthropy  cut  to  line  and 
measure — a  big  Scheme  standing  in  squares  across 
the  avenue  of  the  future.  Now,  moss  and  flowers 
and  little  children  took  up  all  the  available  space.  .  .  . 
How  curiously  out  of  the  world  Bourcelles  was,  to 
be  sure.  Newspapers  had  no  meaning  any  longer. 
Picture-papers  and  smart  weekly  Reviews,  so  necessary 
and  important  in  St.  James's  Street,  here  seemed 
vulgar,  almost  impertinent — ridiculous  even.  Big 
books,  yes  ;  but  not  pert,  topical  comments  issued 
with  an  absurd  omnipotence  upon  things  merely 
ephemeral.  How  the  mind  accumulated  rubbish  in  a 
city  !  It  seemed  incredible.  He  surely  had  climbed 
a  wall  and  dropped  down  into  a  world  far  bigger, 
though  a  world  the  '  city  '  would  deem  insignificant 
and  trivial.  Yet  only  because  it  had  less  detail 
probably  !  A  loved  verse  flashed  to  him  across  the 
years  : — 

'  O  to  dream,  O  to  awake  and  wander 
There,  and  with  delight  to  take  and  render, 
Through  the  trance  of  silence, 
Ouiet  breath  ! 
Lo  !   for  there  among  the  flowers  and  grasses, 
Only  the  mightier  movement  sounds  and  passes  ; 
Only  winds  and  rivers, 
Life  and  death.' 

Bourcelles  was  important  as  London,  yes,  while 
simple  as  the  nursery.  The  same  big  questions  of 
life  and  death,  of  battle,  duty,  love,  ruled  the  peaceful 
inhabitants.  Only  the  noisy  shouting,  the  clatter 
of  superfluous  chattering  and  feverish  striving  had 


xvii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       231 

dropped  away.  Hearts  and  minds  wore  fewer  clothes 
among  these  woods  and  vineyards.  There  was  no 
nakedness  though  .  .  .  there  were  flowers  and  moss, 
blue  sky  and  peace  and  beauty.  .  .  .  Thought  ran 
into  confused,  vague  pictures.  He  could  not  give 
them  coherence,  shape,  form.   .   .   . 

He  crossed  the  meadows  and  entered  the  village 
through  the  Pension  garden.  The  Widow  Jequier 
gave  him  a  spray  of  her  Persian  lilac  on  the  way. 
'  It's  been  growing  twenty-five  years  for  you,'  she 
said,  '  only  do  not  look  at  me.  I'm  in  my  garden 
things — invisible.'  He  remembered  with  a  smile 
Jane  Anne's  description — that  '  the  front  part  of  the 
house  was  all  at  the  back.' 

Tumbling  down  the  wooden  stairs,  he  crossed  the 
street  and  made  for  the  Citadelle,  where  the  children 
opened  the  door  for  him  even  before  he  rang.  Jimbo 
and  Monkey,  just  home  from  school,  pulled  him  by 
both  arms  towards  the  tea-table.  They  had  watched 
for  his  coming. 

'  The  samovar's  just  boiling,'  Mother  welcomed 
him.  Daddy  was  on  the  sofa  by  the  open  window, 
reading  manuscript  over  to  himself  in  a  mumbling 
voice  ;  and  Jane  Anne,  apron  on,  sleeves  tucked  up, 
face  flushed,  poked  her  head  in  from  the  kitchen  : 

1  Excuse  me,  Mother,  the  cupboard's  all  in  distress. 
I  can't  find  the  marmalade  anywhere.' 

'  But  it's  already  on  the  table,  child.' 

She  saw  her  Cousin  and  popped  swiftly  back 
again  from  view.  One  heard  fragments  of  her 
sentences  — '  wumbled  .  .  .  chronic  .  .  .  busy 
monster.  .  .  .'  And  two  minutes  later  la  famille 
anglaise  was  seriously  at  tea. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 


What  art  thou,  then  ?     I  cannot  guess  ; 
But  tho'  I  seem  in  star  and  flower 
To  feel  thee  some  diffusive  power, 

I  do  not  therefore  love  thee  less. 


Love  and  Death,  Tennyson. 

In  the  act  of  waking  up  on  the  morning  of  the  Star 
Cave  experience,  Henry  Rogers  caught  the  face  of  a 
vivid  dream  close  against  his  own — but  in  rapid 
motion,  already  passing.  He  tried  to  seize  it. 
There  was  a  happy,  delightful  atmosphere  about 
it.  Examination,  however,  was  impossible  ;  the 
effort  to  recover  the  haunting  dream  dispersed  it. 
He  saw  the  tip,  like  an  express  train  flying  round 
a  corner ;  it  flashed  and  disappeared,  fading  into 
dimness.  Only  the  delightful  atmosphere  remained 
and  the  sense  that  he  had  been  somewhere  far  away 
in  very  happy  conditions.  People  he  knew  quite 
well,  had  been  there  with  him  ;  Jimbo  and  Monkey ; 
Daddy  too,  as  he  had  known  him  in  his  boyhood. 
More  than  this  was  mere  vague  surmise  ;  he  could 
not  recover  details.  Others  had  been  also  of  the 
merry  company,  familiar  yet  unrecognisable.  Who 
in  the  world  were  they  ?     It  all  seemed  oddly  real. 

'  How  I  do  dream  in  this  place,  to  be  sure,'  he 
thought ;  *  I,  who  normally  dream  so  little  !  It  was 
like  a  scene  of  my  childhood — Crayfield  or  some- 
where.'    And  he  reflected  how  easily  one  might  be 

233 


ch.  xviii  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       233 

persuaded  that  the  spirit  escaped  in  sleep  and  knew 
another  order  of  experience.  The  sense  of  actuality 
was  so  vivid. 

He  lay  half  dozing  for  a  little  longer,  hoping  to 
recover  the  adventures.  The  flying  train  showed 
itself  once  or  twice  again,  but  smaller,  and  much, 
much  farther  away.  It  curved  off  into  the  distance. 
A  deep  cutting  quickly  swallowed  it.  It  emerged 
for  the  last  time,  tiny  as  a  snake  upon  a  chess-board 
of  far-off  fields.  Then  it  dipped  into  mist  ;  the 
snake  shot  into  its  hole.  It  was  gone.  He  sighed. 
It  had  been  so  lovely.  Why  must  it  vanish  so 
entirely  ?  Once  or  twice  during  the  day  it  returned, 
touched  him  swiftly  on  the  heart  and  was  gone 
again.  But  the  waking  impression  of  a  dream  is 
never  the  dream  itself.  Sunshine  destroys  the  sense 
of  enormous  wonder. 

'  I  believe  I've  been  dreaming  all  night  long,  and 
going  through  all  kinds  of  wild  adventures.' 

He  dressed  leisurely,  still  hunting  subconsciously 
for  fragments  of  that  happy  dreamland.  Its  aroma 
still  clung  about  him.  The  sunshine  poured  into  the 
room.  He  went  out  on  to  the  balcony  and  looked 
at  the  Alps  through  his  Zeiss  field-glasses.  The 
brilliant  snow  upon  the  Diablerets  danced  and  sang 
into  his  blood  ;  across  the  broken  teeth  of  the  Dent 
du  Midi  trailed  thin  strips  of  early  cloud.  Behind 
him  rose  great  Boudry's  massive  shoulders,  a  pyramid 
of  incredible  deep  blue.  And  the  limestone  precipices 
of  La  Tourne  stood  dazzlingly  white,  catching  the 
morning  sunlight  full  in  their  face. 

The  air  had  the  freshness  of  the  sea.  Men  were 
singing  at  their  work  among  the  vineyards.  The 
tinkle  of  cow-bells  floated  to  him  from  the  upper 
pastures  upon  Mont  Racine.     Little  sails  like  sea- 


234        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

gulls  dipped  across  the  lake.  Goodness,  how  happy 
the  world  was  at  Bourcelles  !  Singing,  radiant, 
careless  of  pain  and  death.  And,  goodness,  how  he 
longed  to  make  it  happier  still  ! 

Every  day  now  this  morning  mood  had  been  the 
same.  Desire  to  do  something  for  others  ran  races 
with  little  practical  schemes  for  carrying  it  out.  Selfish 
considerations  seemed  to  have  taken  flight,  all  washed 
away  while  he  slept.  Moreover,  the  thought  of  his 
Scheme  had  begun  to  oppress  him  ;  a  touch  of  shame 
came  with  it,  almost  as  though  an  unworthy  personal 
motive  were  somewhere  in  it.  Perhaps  after  all — 
he  wondered  more  and  more  now — there  had  been 
an  admixture  of  personal  ambition  in  the  plan.  The 
idea  that  it  would  bring  him  honour  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world  had  possibly  lain  there  hidden  all  along. 
If  so,  he  had  not  realised  it  ;  the  depravity  had  been 
unconscious.  Before  the  Bourcelles  standard  of 
simplicity,  artificial  elements  dropped  off  automatic- 
ally, ashamed.  .  .  .  And  a  profound  truth,  fished 
somehow  out  of  that  vanished  dreamland,  spun  its 
trail  of  glory  through  his  heart.  Kindness  that  is 
thanked-for  surely  brings  degradation — a  degradation 
almost  as  mean  as  the  subscription  acknowledged  in 
a  newspaper,  or  the  anonymous  contribution  kept 
secret  temporarily  in  order  that  its  later  advertise- 
ment may  excite  the  more  applause.  Out  flashed 
this  blazing  truth  :  kind  acts  must  be  instinctive, 
natural,  thoughtless.  One  hand  must  be  in  absolute 
ignorance  of  the  other's  high  adventures.  .  .  .  And 
when  the  carpenter's  wife  brought  up  his  breakfast 
tray,  with  the  bunch  of  forest  flowers  standing  in  a 
tumbler  of  water,  she  caught  him  pondering  over 
another  boyhood's  memory — that  friend  of  his 
father's  who  had  given  away  a  million  anonymously. 


xviii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       235 

.  .  .  In  his  heart  plans  shaped  themselves  with 
soft,  shy  eyes  and  hidden  faces.  .  .  .  He  longed 
to  get  la  famille  anglalse  straight  .  .  .  for  one 
thing.   .   .   . 

It  was  an  hour  later,  while  he  still  sat  dreaming 
in  the  sunshine  by  the  open  window,  that  a  gentle 
tap  came  at  the  door,  and  Daddy  entered.  The 
visit  was  a  surprise.  Usually,  until  time  for  dejeuner, 
he  kept  his  room,  busily  unwumbling  stories.  This 
was  unusual.  And  something  had  happened  to  him  ; 
he  looked  different.  What  was  it  that  had  changed  ? 
Some  veil  had  cleared  away  ;  his  eyes  were  shining. 
They  greeted  one  another,  and  Rogers  fell  shyly 
to  commonplaces,  while  wondering  what  the  change 
exactly  was. 

But  the  other  was  not  to  be  put  off.  He  was 
bursting  with  something.  Rogers  had  never  seen 
him  like  this  before. 

'You've  stopped  work  earlier  than  usual,'  he 
said,  providing  the  opening.  He  understood  his 
diffidence,  his  shyness  in  speaking  of  himself.  Long 
disappointments  lay  so  thinly  screened  behind  his 
unfulfilled  enthusiasm. 

But  this  time  the  enthusiasm  swept  diffidence  to 
the  winds.     It  had  been  vitally  stirred. 

1  Early  indeed,'  he  cried.  '  I've  been  working 
four  hours  without  a  break,  man.  Why,  what  do 
you  think  ? — I  woke  at  sunrise,  a  thing  I  never  do, 
with — with  a  brilliant  idea  in  my  head.  Brilliant,  I 
tell  you.  By  Jove,  if  only  I  can  carry  it  out  as  I 
see  it ! ' 

'  You've  begun  it  already  ? ' 

'  Been  at  it  since  six  o'clock,  I  tell  you.  It  was  in 
me  when  I  woke — idea,  treatment,  everything  com- 
plete, all  in  a  perfect  pattern  of  Beauty.' 


236        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

There  was  a  glow  upon  his  face,  his  hair  was  un- 
tidy ;  a  white  muffler  with  blue  spots  was  round  his 
neck  instead  of  collar.  One  end  stuck  up  against 
his  chin.     The  safety  pin  was  open. 

'  By  Jove  !  I  am  delighted  ! '  Rogers  had  seen 
him  excited  before  over  a  '  brilliant  idea,'  but  the 
telling  of  it  always  left  him  cold.  It  touched  the 
intellect,  yet  not  the  heart.  It  was  merely  clever. 
This  time,  however,  there  was  a  new  thing  in  his 
manner.  '  How  did  you  get  it  ? '  he  repeated. 
Methods  of  literary  production  beyond  his  own 
doggerels  were  a  mystery  to  him.  '  Sort  of  inspira- 
tion, eh  ? ' 

'  Woke  with  it,  I  tell  you,'  continued  his  cousin, 
twisting  the  muffler  so  that  it  tickled  his  ear  now 
instead  of  his  chin.  '  It  must  have  come  to  me  in 
sleep ' 

'  In  sleep,'  exclaimed  the  other  ;  '  you  dreamt 
it,  then  ?  ' 

'  Kind  of  inspiration  business.     I've  heard  of  that 

sort  of  thing,  but  never  experienced  it '     The 

author  paused  for  breath. 

'  What  is  it  ?  Tell  me.'  He  remembered  how 
ingenious  details  of  his  patents  had  sometimes  found 
themselves  cleared  up  in  the  morning  after  refreshing 
slumber.  This  might  be  something  similar.  *  Let's 
hear  it,'  he  added  ;  '  I'm  interested.' 

His  cousin's  recitals  usually  ended  in  sad  con- 
fusion, so  that  all  he  could  answer  by  way  of  praise 
was — '  You  ought  to  make  something  good  out  of 
that.  I  shall  like  to  read  it  when  you've  finished  it.' 
But  this  time,  he  felt,  there  was  distinctly  a  difference. 
There  were  new  conditions. 

The  older  man  leaned  closer,  his  face  alight,  his 
manner    shyly,  eagerly   confidential.     The   morning 


xviii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        237 

sunshine  blazed  upon  his  untidy  hair.  A  bread 
crumb  from  breakfast  still  balanced  in  his  beard. 

'  It's  difficult  to  tell  in  a  few  words,  you  see,'  he 
began,  the  enthusiasm  of  a  boy  in  his  manner,  '  but — 
I  woke  with  the  odd  idea  that  this  little  village 
might  be  an  epitome  of  the  world.  All  the  emotions 
of  London,  you  see,  are  here  in  essence — the  courage 
and  cowardice,  the  fear  and  hope,  the  greed  and 
sacrifice,  the  love  and  hate  and  passion — everything. 
It's  the  big  world  in  miniature.  Only— with  one 
difference.' 

'  That's  good,'  said  Rogers,  trying  to  remember 
when  it  was  he  had  told  his  cousin  this  very  thing. 
Or  had  he  only  thought  it  ?  '  And  what  is  the 
difference  ? ' 

*  The  difference,'  continued  the  other,  eyes  spark- 
ling, face  alight,  '  that  here  the  woods,  the  mountains 
and  the  stars  are  close.  They  pour  themselves  in 
upon  the  village  life  from  every  side — above,  below, 
all  round.  Flowers  surround  it  ;  it  dances  to  the 
mountain  winds  ;  at  night  it  lies  entangled  in  the 
starlight.  Along  a  thousand  imperceptible  channels 
an  ideal  simplicity  from  Nature  pours  down  into  it, 
modifying  the  human  passions,  chastening,  purifying, 
uplifting.  Don't  you  see  ?  And  these  sweet,  view- 
less  channels  —  who   keeps  them   clean   and   open  ? 

Why,    God    bless    you .      The    children!      My 

children  ! ' 

'  By  Jingo,  yes  ;  your  children.' 

Rogers  said  it  with  emphasis.  But  there  was  a 
sudden  catch  at  his  heart  ;  he  was  conscious  of  a 
queer  sensation  he  could  not  name.  This  was 
exactly  what  he  had  felt  himself — with  the  difference 
that  his  own  thought  had  been,  perhaps,  emotion 
rather  than  a  reasoned-out  idea.     His  cousin  put  it 


238        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

into  words  and  gave  it  form.  A  picture — had  he 
seen  it  in  a  book  perhaps  ? — flashed  across  his  mind. 
A  child,  suspiciously  like  Monkey,  held  a  pen  and 
dipped  it  into  something  bright  and  flowing.  A 
little  boy  with  big  blue  eyes  gathered  this  shining 
stuff  in  both  hands  and  poured  it  in  a  golden  cataract 
upon  the  eyelids  of  a  sleeping  figure.  And  the  figure 
had  a  beard.  It  was  a  man  .  .  .  familiar.  ...  A 
touch  of  odd  excitement  trembled  through  his  under- 
mind   .   .   .  thrilled  .   .   .   vanished.   .   .   . 

All  dived  out  of  sight  again  with  the  swiftness  of 
a  darting  swallow.  His  cousin  was  talking  at  high 
speed.  Rogers  had  lost  a  great  deal  of  what  he  had 
been  saying. 

' ...  it  may,  of  course,  have  come  from  some- 
thing you  said  the  other  night  as  we  walked  up  the 
hill  to  supper — you  remember? — something  about 
the  brilliance  of  our  stars  here  and  how  they  formed 
a  shining  network  that  hung  from  Boudry  and  La 
Tourne.  It's  impossible  to  say.  The  germ  of  a 
true  inspiration  is  never  discoverable.  Only,  I 
remember,  it  struck  me  as  an  odd  thing  for  you 
to  say.  I  was  telling  you  about  my  idea  of  the 
scientist  who  married — no,  no,  it  wasn't  that,  it  was 
my  story  of  the  materialist  doctor  whom  circum- 
stances compelled  to  accept  a  position  in  the  Com- 
munity of  Shakers,  and  how  the  contrast  produced 
an  effect  upon  his  mind  of — of — you  remember, 
perhaps  ?  It  was  one  or  the  other  ;  I  forget 
exactly,' — then  suddenly — '  No,  no,  I've  got  it — 
it  was  the  analysis  of  the  father's  mind  when  he 
found ' 

'Yes,  yes,'  interrupted  Rogers.  *  We  were  just 
passing  the  Citadelle  fountain.  I  saw  the  big  star 
upon  the  top  of  Boudry,  and  made  a  remark  about 


xviii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        239 

it.'     His  cousin  was   getting   sadly   wumbled.     He 
tried  to  put  severity  and  concentration  into  his  voice. 

'  That's  it,'  the  other  cried,  head  on  one  side  and 
holding  up  a  finger,  '  because  I  remember  that  my 
own  thought  wandered  for  a  moment — thought  will, 
you  know,  in  spite  of  one's  best  effort  sometimes — 
and  you  said  a  thing  that  sent  a  little  shiver  of 
pleasure  through  me  for  an  instant  —  something 
about  a  Starlight  Train — and  made  me  wonder  where 
you  got  the  idea.  That's  it.  I  do  believe  you've 
hit  the  nail  on  the  head.  Isn't  it  curious  sometimes 
how  a  practical  mind  may  suggest  valuable  material 
to  the  artist  ?     I  remember,  several  years  ago ' 

'  Starlight  Express,  wasn't  it  ? '  said  his  friend 
with  decision  in  his  voice.  He  thumped  the  table 
vigorously  with  one  fist.  '  Keep  to  the  point,  old 
man.     Follow  it  out.     Your  idea  is  splendid.' 

'Yes,  I  do  believe  it  is.'  Something  in  his  voice 
trembled. 

One  sentence  in  particular  Rogers  heard,  for  it 
seemed  plucked  out  of  the  talk  he  had  with  the 
children  in  the  forest  that  day  two  weeks  ago. 

'  You  see,  all  light  meets  somewhere.  It's  all 
one,  I  mean.  And  so  with  minds.  They  all  have  a 
common  meeting-place.  Sympathy  is  the  name  for 
that  place — that  state — they  feel  with  each  other, 
see  flash-like  from  the  same  point  of  view  for  a 
moment.  And  children  are  the  conduits.  They  do 
not  think  things  out.  They  feel  them,  eh  ? '  He 
paused  an  instant. 

'  For  you  see,  along  these  little  channels  that  the 
children — my  children,  as  I  think  I  mentioned — 
keep  sweet  and  open,  there  might  troop  back  into 
the  village — Fairyland.  Not  merely  a  foolish  fairy- 
land  of   make-believe    and   dragons    and    princesses 


24o        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

imprisoned  in  animals,  but  a  fairyland  the  whole 
world  needs  —  the  sympathy  of  sweet  endeavour, 
love,  gentleness  and  sacrifice  for  others.  The  stars 
would  bring  it — starlight  don't  you  see  ?  One  might 
weave  starlight  in  and  out  everywhere — use  it  as  the 
symbol  of  sympathy — and — er — so  on ' 

Rogers  again  lost  the  clue.  Another  strangely 
familiar  picture,  and  then  another,  flashed  gorgeously 
before  his  inner  vision  ;  his  mind  raced  after  them, 
yet  never  caught  them  up.  They  were  most  curiously 
familiar.  Then,  suddenly,  he  came  back  and  heard  his 
cousin  still  talking.  It  was  like  a  subtle  plagiarism. 
Too  subtle  altogether,  indeed,  it  was  for  him.  He 
could  only  stare  and  listen  in  amazement. 

But  the  recital  grew  more  and  more  involved. 
Perhaps,  alone  in  his  work-room,  Daddy  could 
unwumble  it  consistently.  He  certainly  could  not 
tell  it.  The  thread  went  lost  among  a  dozen  other 
things.  The  interfering  sun  had  melted  it  all  down 
in  dew  and  spider  gossamer  and  fairy  cotton.  .  .   . 

'  I  must  go  down  and  work,'  he  said  at  length, 
rising  and  fumbling  with  the  door  handle.  He 
seemed  disappointed  a  little.  He  had  given  out  his 
ideas  so  freely,  perhaps  too  freely.  Rogers  divined 
he  had  not  sympathised  enough.  His  manner  had 
been  shamefully  absent-minded.  The  absent-minded- 
ness was  really  the  highest  possible  praise,  but  the 
author  did  not  seem  to  realise  it. 

'  It's  glorious,  my  dear  fellow,  glorious,'  Rogers 
added  emphatically.  '  You've  got  a  big  idea,  and 
you  can  write  it  too.  You  will.'  He  said  it  with 
conviction.  '  You  touch  my  heart  as  you  tell  it.  I 
congratulate  you.     Really  I  do.' 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  sincerity  of  his  words 
and   tone.     The   other   came   back   a   step   into  the 


xvin        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        241 

room  again.  He  stroked  his  beard  and  felt  the  crisp, 
hard  crumb.  He  picked  it  out,  examining  it  without 
surprise.  It  was  no  unfamiliar  thing,  perhaps  ;  at 
any  rate,  it  was  an  excuse  to  lower  his  eyes.  Shy- 
ness returned  upon  him. 

'  Thank  you,'  he  said  gently  ;  '  I'm  glad  you 
think  so.  You  see,  I  sometimes  feel — perhaps — my 
work  has  rather  suffered  from — been  a  little  deficient 
in — the  human  touch.  One  must  reach  people's 
hearts  if  one  wants  big  sales.  So  few  have  brains. 
Not  that  I  care  for  money,  or  could  ever  write  for 
money,  for  that  brings  its  own  punishment  in  loss  of 
inspiration.  But  of  course,  with  a  family  to  support. 
...  I  have  a  family,  you  see.'  He  raised  his  eyes 
and  looked  out  into  the  sunshine.  '  Well,  anyhow, 
I've  begun  this  thing.  I  shall  send  it  in  short  form 
to  the  X.  Review.  It  may  attract  attention  there. 
And  later  I  can  expand  it  into  a  volume.'  He 
hesitated,  examined  the  crumb  closely  again,  tossed  it 
away,  and  looked  up  at  his  cousin  suddenly  full  in 
the  face.  The  high  enthusiasm  flamed  back  into  his 
eyes  again.  '  Bring  the  world  back  to  Fairyland,  you 
see  ! '  he  concluded  with  vehemence,  '  eh  ? ' 

'  Glorious  !  '  Surely  thought  ran  about  the  world 
like  coloured  flame,  if  this  was  true. 

The  author  turned  towards  the  door.  He  opened 
it,  then  stopped  on  the  threshold  and  looked  round 
like  a  person  who  has  lost  his  way. 

'  I  forgot,'  he  added,  c  I  forgot  another  thing,  one 
of  the  chief  almost.  It's  this  :  there  must  be  a 
Leader — who  shall  bring  it  back.  Without  the 
Guide,  Interpreter,  Pioneer,  how  shall  the  world 
listen  or  understand,  even  the  little  world  of  Bour- 
celles  ? ' 

'  Of  course,  yes — some  big  figure — like  a  priest 

R 


242        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap 

or  prophet,  you  mean  ?  A  sort  of  Chairman,  Presi- 
dent, eh  ? ' 

'  Yes,'  was  the  reply,  while  the  eyes  flashed 
fires  that  almost  recaptured  forgotten  dreams,  'but 
hardly  in  the  way  you  mean,  perhaps.  A  very 
simple  figure,  /  mean,  unconscious  of  its  mighty 
role.  Some  one  with  endless  stores  of  love  and 
sympathy  and  compassion  that  have  never  found  an 
outlet  yet,  but  gone  on  accumulating  and  accumu- 
lating unexpressed.' 

'  I  see,  yes.'  Though  he  really  did  not '  see  '  a  bit. 
'  But  who  is  there  like  that  here  ?  You'll  have  to 
invent  him.'  He  remembered  his  own  thought  that 
some  principal  role  was  vacant  in  his  Children's 
Fairy  Play.  How  queer  it  all  was !  He  stared. 
'  Who  is  there  ?  '  he  repeated. 

'  No  one — now.     I  shall  bring  her,  though.' 

'  Her  ! '  exclaimed  Rogers  with  surprise.  '  You 
mean  a  woman  ? ' 

'  A  childless  woman,'  came  the  soft  reply.  '  A 
woman  with  a  million  children — all  unborn.'  But 
Rogers  did  not  see  the  expression  of  the  face.  His 
cousin  was  on  the  landing.  The  door  closed  softly 
on  the  words.  The  steps  went  fumbling  down  the 
stairs,  and  presently  he  heard  the  door  below  close 
too.     The  key  was  turned  in  it. 

1  A  childless  woman  ! '  The  phrase  rang  on  long 
after  he  had  gone.  What  an  extraordinary  idea  ! 
'  Bring  her  here '  indeed  !  Could  his  cousin  mean 
that  some  such  woman  might  read  his  story  and 
come  to  claim  the  position,  play  the  vacant  role  ? 
No,  nothing  so  literal  surely.  The  idea  was  pre- 
posterous. He  had  heard  it  said  that  imaginative 
folk,  writers,  painters,  musicians,  all  had  a  touch  of 
lunacy    in     them     somewhere.       He    shrugged    his 


xviii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        243 

shoulders.  And  what  a  job  it  must  be,  too,  the 
writing  of  a  book  !  He  had  never  realised  it  before. 
A  real  book,  then,  meant  putting  one's  heart  into 
sentences,  telling  one's  inmost  secrets,  confessing 
one's  own  ideals  with  fire  and  lust  and  passion.  That 
was  the  difference  perhaps  between  literature  and 
mere  facile  invention.  His  cousin  had  never  dared 
do  this  before  ;  shyness  prevented  ;  his  intellect 
wove  pretty  patterns  that  had  no  heat  of  life  in  them. 
But  now  he  had  discovered  a  big  idea,  true  as  the 
sun,  and  able,  like  the  sun,  to  warm  thousands  of 
readers,  all  ready  for  it  without  knowing  it.  .   .  . 

Rogers  sat  on  thinking  in  the  bright  spring  sun- 
shine, smoking  one  cigarette  after  another.  For  the 
idea  his  cousin  had  wumbled  over  so  fubsily  had 
touched  his  heart,  and  for  a  long  time  he  was  puzzled 
to  find  the  reason.  But  at  length  he  found  it.  In 
that  startling  phrase  '  a  childless  woman '  lay  the 
clue.  A  childless  woman  was  like  a  vessel  with  a 
cargo  of  exquisite  flowers  that  could  never  make  a 
port.  Sweetening  every  wind,  she  yet  never  comes 
to  land.  No  harbour  welcomes  her.  She  sails  end- 
less seas,  charged  with  her  freight  of  undelivered 
beauty  ;  the  waves  devour  her  glory,  her  pain,  her 
lovely  secret  all  unconfessed.  To  bring  such  a 
woman  into  port,  even  imaginatively  in  a  story,  or 
subconsciously  in  an  inner  life,  was  fulfilment  of  a 
big,  fine,  wholesome  yearning,  sacred  in  a  way,  too. 

'  By  George  ! '  he  said  aloud.  He  felt  strange, 
great  life  pour  through  him.  He  had  made  a 
discovery  ...  in  his  heart  .   .   .   deep,  deep  down. 

Something  in  himself,  so  long  buried  it  was 
scarcely  recognisable,  stirred  out  of  sight  and  tried  to 
rise.  Some  flower  of  his  youth  that  time  had 
hardened,    dried,    yet    never    killed,    moved    gently 


244        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

towards  blossoming.  It  shone.  It  was  still  hard  a 
little,  like  a  crystal,  glistening  down  there  among 
shadows  that  had  gathered  with  the  years.  And 
then  it  suddenly  melted,  running  in  a  tiny  thread  of 
gold  among  his  thoughts  into  that  quiet  sea  which  so 
rarely  in  a  man  may  dare  the  relief  of  tears.  It  was 
a  tiny  yellow  flower,  like  a  daisy  that  had  forgotten 
to  close  at  night,  so  that  some  stray  starbeam  changed 
its  whiteness  into  gold. 

Forgotten  passion,  and  yearning  long  denied, 
stirred  in  him  with  that  phrase.  His  cousin's  chil- 
dren doubtless  had  prepared  the  way.  A  faded 
Dream  peered  softly  into  his  eyes  across  the  barriers 
of  the  years.  For  every  woman  in  the  world  was  a 
mother,  and  a  childless  woman  was  the  grandest, 
biggest  mother  of  them  all.  And  he  had  longed  for 
children  of  his  own  ;  he,  too,  had  remained  a  child- 
less father.  A  vanished  face  gazed  up  into  his  own. 
Two  vessels,  making  the  same  fair  harbour,  had  lost 
their  way,  yet  still  sailed,  perhaps,  the  empty  seas. 
Yet  the  face  he  did  not  quite  recognise.  The  eyes, 
instead  of  blue,  were  amber.   .   .   . 

And  did  this  explain  a  little  the  spell  that  caught 
him  in  this  Jura  village,  perhaps  ?  Were  these 
children,  weaving  a  network  so  cunningly  about  his 
feet,  merely  scouts  and  pilots  ?  Was  his  love  for  the 
world  of  suffering  folk,  after  all,  but  his  love  for  a 
wife  and  children  of  his  own  transmuted  into  wider 
channels  ?  Denied  the  little  garden  he  once  had 
planned  for  it,  did  it  seek  to  turn  the  whole  big 
world  into  a  garden  ?  Suppression  was  impossible  ; 
like  murder,  it  must  out.  A  bit  of  it  had  even 
flamed  a  passage  into  work  and  patents  and  '  City  '  life. 
For  love  is  life,  and  life  is  ever  and  everywhere  one. 
He    thought    and    thought    and    thought.     A    man 


xviii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        245 

begins  by  loving  himself;  then,  losing  himself,  he 
loves  a  woman  ;  next,  that  love  spreads  itself  over  a 
still  bigger  field,  and  he  loves  his  family,  his  wife  and 
children,  and  their  families  again  in  turn.  But,  that 
expression  denied,  his  love  inevitably,  irrepressibly 
seeking  an  outlet,  finds  it  in  a  Cause,  a  Race,  a 
Nation,  perhaps  in  the  entire  world.  The  world 
becomes  his  *  neighbour.'  It  was  a  great  Fairy 
Story.  .  .  . 

Again  his  thoughts  returned  to  that  one  singular 
sentence  .  .  .  and  he  realised  what  his  cousin 
meant.  Only  a  childless  Mother,  some  woman 
charged  to  the  brim  with  this  power  of  loving  to 
which  ordinary  expression  had  been  denied,  could  fill 
the  vacant  role  in  his  great  Children's  Play.  No 
man  could  do  it.  He  and  his  cousin  were  mere 
c  supers '  on  this  stage.  His  cousin  would  invent  her 
for  his  story.  He  would  make  her  come.  His 
passion  would  create  her.     That  was  what  he  meant. 

Rogers  smiled  to  himself,  moving  away  from  the 
window  where  the  sunshine  grew  too  fierce  for 
comfort.  What  a  funny  business  it  all  was,  to  be 
sure  !  And  how  curiously  every  one's  thinking  had 
intermingled  !  The  children  had  somehow  divined 
his  own  imaginings  in  that  Crayfield  garden  ;  their 
father  had  stolen  the  lot  for  his  story.  It  was  most 
extraordinary.  And  then  he  remembered  Minks, 
and  all  his  lunatic  theories  about  thought  and 
thought-pictures.  The  garden  scene  at  Crayfield 
came  back  vividly,  the  one  at  Charing  Cross,  in  the 
orchard,  too,  with  the  old  Vicar,  when  they  had 
talked  beneath  the  stars.  Who  among  them  all  was 
the  original  sponsor  ?  And  which  of  them  had  set 
the  ball  a-rolling  ?  It  was  stranger  than  the  story 
of  creation.  ...   It  was  the  story  of  creation. 


246        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

Yet  he  did  not  puzzle  very  long.  Actors 
in  a  play  are  never  puzzled  ;  it  is  the  bewildered 
audience  who  ask  questions.  And  Henry  Rogers 
was  on  the  stage.  The  gauzy  curtain  hung 
between  him  and  the  outside  point  of  view.  He 
was  already  deeply  involved  in  Fairyland.  .  .  . 
His  feet  were  in  the  Net  of  Stars.  .  .  .  He  was 
a  prisoner. 

And  that  woman  he  had  once  dreamed  might 
mother  his  own  children — where  was  she  ?  Until  a 
few  years  ago  he  had  still  expected,  hoped  to  meet 
her.  One  day  they  would  come  together.  She 
waited  somewhere.  It  was  only  recently  he  had  let 
the  dream  slip  finally  from  him,  abandoned  with 
many  another  personal  ambition. 

Idly  he  picked  up  a  pencil,  and  before  he  was 
aware  of  it  the  words  ran  into  lines.  It  seemed  as 
though  his  cousin's  mood,  thought,  inspiration,  worked 
through  him. 

Upon  what  flowering  shore, 
'Neath  what  blue  skies 
She  stands  and  waits, 
It  is  not  mine  to  know  ; 
Only  I  know  that  shore  is  fair, 
Those  skies  are  blue. 

Her  voice  I  may  not  hear, 

Nor  see  her  eyes, 

Yet  there  are  times 

When  in  the  wind  she  speaks 

When  stars  and  flowers 

Tell  me  of  her  eyes. 

When  rivers  chant  her  name. 

If  ever  signs  were  sure, 

I  know  she  waits  ; 

If  not,  what  means  this  sweetness  in  the  wind, 

The  singing  in  the  rain,  the  love  in  flowers  ? 


sviii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        247 

What  mean  these  whispers  in  the  air, 
This  calling  from  the  hills  and  from  the  sea  ? 
These  tendernesses  of  the  Day  and  Night? 
Unless  she  waits  ! 

What  in  the  world  was  this  absurd  sweetness 
running  in  his  veins  ? 

He  laughed  a  little.  A  slight  flush,  too,  came 
and  went  its  way.  The  tip  of  the  pencil  snapped  as 
he  pressed  too  heavily  on  it.  He  had  drawn  it 
through  the  doggerel  with  impatience,  for  he  suddenly 
realised  that  he  had  told  a  deep,  deep  secret  to  the 
paper.  It  had  stammered  its  way  out  before  he  was 
aware  of  it.  This  was  youth  and  boyhood  strong 
upon  him,  the  moods  of  Crayfield  that  he  had  set 
long  ago  on  one  side — deliberately.  The  mood  that 
wrote  the  Song  of  the  Blue  Eyes  had  returned,  waking 
after  a  sleep  of  a  quarter  of  a  century. 

'  What  rubbish  !  '  he  exclaimed  ;  '  I  shall  be  an 
author  next ! '  He  tore  it  up  and,  rolling  the  pieces 
into  a  ball,  played  catch  with  it.  '  What  waste  of 
energy  !  Six  months  ago  that  energy  would  have 
gone  into  something  useful,  a  patent — perhaps  an 
improvement  in  the  mechanism  of — of — '  he  hesi- 
tated, then  finished  the  sentence  with  a  sigh  of 
yearning  and  another  passing  flush — *a  peram- 
bulator ! ' 

He  tossed  it  out  of  the  window  and,  laughing, 
leaned  out  to  watch  it  fall.  It  bounced  upon  a  head 
of  tousled  hair  beneath,  then  flew  off  sideways  in 
the  wind  and  rattled  away  faintly  among  the  vines. 
The  head  was  his  cousin's. 

1  What  are  you  up  to  ? '  cried  the  author,  looking 
up.  *  I'm  not  a  waste-paper  basket.'  There  was  a 
cigarette  ash  in  his  beard. 

'  Sending  you  ideas,   he  answered.     '  I'm  coming 


248      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND     CH.  xvm 

myself  now.  Look  out ! '  He  was  in  high  spirits 
again.     He  believed  in  that  Fairy  Princess. 

'  All  right ;  I've  put  you  in  already.  Everybody 
will  wonder  who  Cousinenry  is.  .  .  .'  The  untidy 
head  of  hair  popped  in  again. 

'  Hark  ! '  cried  Rogers,  trying  to  look  round  the 
corner  of  the  house.  He  edged  himself  out  at  a 
dangerous  angle.  His  ears  had  caught  another  sound. 
There  was  music  in  the  air. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

The  sweet  spring  winds  came  laughing  down  the 
street,  bearing  a  voice  that  mingled  with  their  music. 

1  Daddy  !  Daddy  !  vite ;  il  y  a  un  paquet ! ' 
sounded  in  a  child's  excited  cry.  '  It  arrives  this 
afternoon.  It's  got  the  Edinburgh  postmark.  Here 
is  the  notice,      Cest  inorme  ! ' 

The  figure  of  Jimbo  shot  round  the  corner,  dancing 
into  view.  He  waved  a  bit  of  yellow  paper  in  his 
hand.  A  curious  pang  tore  its  way  into  the  big 
man's  heart  as  he  saw  him — a  curious,  deep,  searching 
pain  that  yet  left  joy  all  along  its  trail.  Positively 
moisture  dimmed  his  eyes  a  second. 

But  Jimbo  belonged  to  some  one  else. 

Daddy's  wumbled  head  projected  instantly  again 
from  the  window  beneath. 

'  A  box  ?  '  he  asked,  equally  excited.  *  A  box 
from  Scotland?  Why,  we  had  one  only  last  month. 
Bless  their  hearts  !  How  little  they  know  what  help 
and  happiness.  .  .  .'  The  rest  of  the  sentence  dis- 
appeared with  the  head  ;  and  a  moment  later  Jimbo 
was  heard  scampering  up  the  stairs.  Both  men  went 
out  to  meet  him. 

The  little  boy  was  breathless  with  excitement,  yet 
the  spirit  of  the  man  of  affairs  worked  strongly  in 
him.  He  deliberately  suppressed  hysterics.  He  spoke 
calmly  as  might  be,  both  hands  in  his  trouser-pockets 

249 


250        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

beneath  the  blouse  of  blue  cotton  that  stuck  out  like 
a  ballet  skirt  all  round.  The  belt  had  slipped  down. 
His  eyes  were  never  still.  He  pulled  one  hand  out, 
holding  the  crumpled  paper  up  for  inspection. 

'  It's  a  paquet]  he  said,  '  comme  fa.'  He  used 
French  and  English  mixed,  putting  the  latter  in  for 
his  cousin's  benefit.  He  had  little  considerate  ways 
like  that.  It's  coming  from  Scotland,  et puis  fa  pese 
soixante-quinze  kilos.  Oh,  it's  big.  It's  enormous. 
The  last  one  weighed,'  he  hesitated,  forgetful,  '  much, 
much  less,'  he  finished.  He  paused,  looking  like  a 
man  who  has  solved  a  problem  by  stating  it. 

'  One  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,'  exclaimed  his 
father,  just  as  eager  as  the  boy.  '  Let  me  look,'  and 
he  held  his  hand  out  for  the  advice  from  the  railway. 
'  What  can  be  in  it  ? ' 

'Something  for  everybody,'  said  Jimbo  decidedly. 
'  All  the  village  knows  it.  It  will  come  by  the  two 
o'clock  train  from  Bale,  you  know.'  He  gave  up 
the  paper  unwillingly.  It  was  his  badge  of  office. 
{  That's  the  paper  about  it,'  he  added  again. 

Daddy  read  out  slowly  the  advice  of  consignment, 
with  dates  and  weights  and  address  of  sender  and 
recipient,  while  Jimbo  corrected  the  least  mistake. 
He  knew  it  absolutely  by  heart. 

'  There'll  be  dresses  and  boots  for  the  girls  this 
time,'  he  announced,  'and  something  big  enough  for 
Mother  to  wear,  too.     You  can  tell ' 

'  How  can  you  tell  ? '  asked  Daddy,  laughing 
slyly,  immensely  pleased  about  it  all. 

'  Oh,  by  the  weight  of  the  paquet,  comme  fa' 
was  the  reply.  It  weighs  75  kilos.  That  means 
there  must  be  something  for  Mummy  in  it.' 

The  author  turned  towards  his  cousin,  hiding  his 
smile.     c  It's  a  box  of  clothes,'  he  explained,  '  from 


xix  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        251 

my  cousins  in  Scotland,  Lady  X  you  know,  and 
her  family.  Things  they  give  away — usually  to  their 
maids  and  what-not.  Awfully  good  of  them,  isn't  it  ? 
They  pay  the  carriage  too,'  he  added.  It  was  an 
immense  relief  to  him. 

'Things  they  can't  wear,'  put  in  Jimbo,  '  but  very 
good  things — suits,  blouses,  shirts,  collars,  boots, 
gloves,  and — oh,  toute  sorte  de  choses  comme  ca? 

'  Isn't  it  nice  of  'em,'  repeated  Daddy.  It  made 
life  easier  for  him — ever  so  much  easier.  '  A  family 
like  that  has  such  heaps  of  things.  And  they  always 
pay  the  freight.  It  saves  me  a  pretty  penny  I  can 
tell  you.  Why,  I  haven't  bought  the  girls  a  dress 
for  two  years  or  more.  And  Edward's  dressed  like 
a  lord,  I  tell  you,'  referring  to  his  eldest  boy  now 
at  an  expensive  tutor's.  '  You  can  understand  the 
excitement  when  a  box  arrives.  We  call  it  the  Magic 
Box.' 

Rogers  understood.  It  had  puzzled  him  before 
why  the  children's  clothes,  Daddy's  and  Mummy's 
as  well  for  that  matter,  were  such  an  incongruous 
assortment  of  village  or  peasant  wear,  and  smart, 
well-cut  garments  that  bore  so  obviously  the  London 
mark. 

'  They're  very  rich  indeed,'  said  Jimbo.  '  They 
have  a  motor  car.  These  are  the  only  things  that 
don't  fit  them.  There's  not  much  for  me  usually  ; 
I'm  too  little  yet.  But  there's  lots  for  the  girls  and 
the  others.'  And  '  the  others,'  it  appeared,  included 
the  Widow  Jequier,  the  Postmaster  and  his  wife,  the 
carpenter's  family,  and  more  than  one  household  in 
the  village  who  knew  the  use  and  value  of  every 
centimetre  of  ribbon.  Even  the  retired  governesses 
got  their  share.  No  shred  or  patch  was  ever  thrown 
away  as  useless.     The  assortment  of  cast-off  clothing 


252        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

furnished  Sunday  Bests  to  half  the  village  for  weeks 
to  come.  A  consignment  of  bullion  could  not  have 
given  half  the  pleasure  and  delight  that  the  arrival  of 
a  box  produced. 

But  midi  was  ringing,  and  dejeuner  had  to  be 
eaten  first.  Like  a  meal  upon  the  stage,  no  one 
ate  sincerely  ;  they  made  a  brave  pretence,  but  the 
excitement  was  too  great  for  hunger.  Every  one 
was  in  the  secret — the  Postmaster  (he  might  get 
another  hat  out  of  it  for  himself)  had  let  it  out 
with  a  characteristic  phrase  :  '  II  y  a  un  paquet  pour 
la  famille  anglaise  ! '  Yet  all  feigned  ignorance.  The 
children  exchanged  mysterious  glances,  and  after- 
wards the  governesses  hung  about  the  Post  Office, 
simulating  the  purchase  of  stamps  at  two  o'clock. 
But  every  one  watched  Daddy's  movements,  for  he  it 
was  who  would  say  the  significant  words. 

And  at  length  he  said  them.  '  Now,  we  had 
better  go  down  to  the  station,'  he  observed  casually, 
'  and  see  if  there  is  anything  for  us.'  His  tone 
conveyed  the  impression  that  things  often  arrived  in 
this  way  ;  it  was  an  everyday  affair.  If  there  was 
nothing,  it  didn't  matter  much.  His  position 
demanded  calmness. 

'  Very  well,'  said  Jimbo.  '  I'll  come  with  you.' 
He  strutted  off,  leading  the  way. 

'  And  I,  and  I,'  cried  Monkey  and  Jane  Anne, 
for  it  was  a  half-holiday  and  all  were  free.  Jimbo 
would  not  have  appeared  to  hurry  for  a  kingdom. 

'  I  think  I'll  join  you,  too,'  remarked  Mother, 
biting  her  lips,  '  only  please  go  slowly.'  There  were 
hills  to  negotiate. 

They  went  off  together  in  a  party,  and  the  gover- 
nesses watched  them  go.  The  Widow  Jequier  put 
her  head  out  of   the  window,  pretending   she   was 


xix         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        253 

feeding  the  birds.  Her  sister  popped  out  oppor- 
tunely to  post  a  letter.  The  Postmaster  opened  his 
guichet  window  and  threw  a  bit  of  string  into  the 
gutter  ;  and  old  Miss  Waghorn,  just  then  appearing 
for  her  daily  fifteen  minutes'  constitutional,  saw  the 
procession  and  asked  him,  '  Who  in  the  world  all 
those  people  were  ? '  She  had  completely  forgotten 
them.  '  Le  barometre  a  monte,'  he  replied,  knowing 
no  word  of  English,  and  thinking  it  was  her  usual 
question  about  the  weather.  He  reported  daily  the 
state  of  the  barometer.  '  Vous  n'aurez  pas  besoin 
d'un  parapluie.'     '  Mercy,'  she  said,  meaning  merci. 

The  train  arrived,  and  with  it  came  the  box. 
They  brought  it  up  themselves  upon  the  little  hand- 
cart— le  char.  It  might  have  weighed  a  ton  and 
contained  priceless  jewels,  the  way  they  tugged  and 
pushed,  and  the  care  they  lavished  on  it.  Mother 
puffed  behind,  hoping  there  would  be  something  to 
fit  Jimbo  this  time. 

'  Shall  we  rest  a  moment?'  came  at  intervals  on 
the  hill,  till  at  last  Monkey  said,  'Sit  on  the  top, 
Mummy,  and  we'll  pull  you  too.'  And  during  the 
rests  they  examined  the  exterior,  smelt  it,  tapped 
it,  tried  to  see  between  the  cracks,  and  ventured 
endless  and  confused  conjectures  as  to  its  probable 
contents. 

They  dragged  the  hand-cart  over  the  cobbles  of 
the  courtyard,  and  heaved  the  box  up  the  long  stone 
staircase.  It  was  planted  at  length  on  the  floor 
beside  the  bed  of  Mile.  Lemaire,  that  she  might 
witness  the  scene  from  her  prison  windows.  Daddy 
had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  keeping  order,  for 
tempers  grow  short  when  excitement  is  too  long 
protracted.  The  furniture  was  moved  about  to 
make   room.       Orders   flew   about    like    grape-shot. 


254        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

Everybody  got  in  everybody  else's  way.  But  finally 
the  unwieldy  packing-case  was  in  position,  and  a 
silence  fell  upon  the  company. 

'  My  gum,  we've  put  it  upside  down,'  said  Daddy, 
red  in  the  face  with  his  exertions.  It  was  the  merest 
chance  that  there  was  no  wisp  of  straw  yet  in  his 
beard. 

'  Then  the  clothes  will  all  be  inside  out,'  cried 
Monkey,  '  and  we  shall  have  to  stand  on  our  heads.' 

'  You  silly,'  Jane  Anne  rebuked  her,  yet  half 
believing  it  was  true,  while  Jimbo,  holding  hammer 
and  chisel  ready,  looked  unutterable  contempt.  '  Can't 
you  be  serious  for  a  moment  ?'  said  his  staring  blue 
eyes. 

The  giant  chest  was  laboriously  turned  over,  the 
two  men  straining  every  muscle  in  the  attempt. 
Then,  after  a  moment's  close  inspection  again  to 
make  quite  sure,  Daddy  spoke  gravely.  Goodness, 
how  calm  he  was  ! 

'  Jimbo,  boy,  pass  me  the  hammer  and  the  chisel, 
will  you  ? ' 

In  breathless  silence  the  lid  was  slowly  forced  open 
and  the  splintered  pieces  gingerly  removed.  Sheets 
of  dirty  brown  paper  and  bundles  of  odorous  sacking 
came  into  view. 

*  Perhaps  that's  all  there  is,'  suggested  Jinny. 

<  Ugh  !     What  a  whiff !  '  said  Monkey. 

'  Fold  them  up  carefully  and  put  them  in  a  corner,' 
ordered  Mother.  Jane  Anne  religiously  obeyed.  Oh 
dear,  how  slow  she  was  about  it ! 

Then  everybody  came  up  very  close,  heads  bent 
over,  hands  began  to  stretch  and  poke.  You  heard 
breathing — nothing  more. 

'  Now,  wait  your  turn,'  commanded  Mother  in  a 
dreadful  voice,  'and  let  your  Father  try  on  every- 


x,x         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        255 

thing  first.'  And  a  roar  of  laughter  made  the  room 
echo  while  Daddy  extracted  wonder  after  wonder  that 
were  packed  in  endless  layers  one  upon  another. 

Perhaps  what  would  have  struck  an  observer  most 
of  all  would  have  been  the  strange  seriousness  against 
which  the  comedy  was  set.  The  laughter  was  in- 
cessant, but  it  was  a  weighty  matter  for  all  that. 
The  bed -ridden  woman,  who  was  sole  audience, 
understood  that  ;  the  parents  understood  it  too. 
Every  article  of  clothing  that  could  be  worn  meant 
a  saving,  and  the  economy  of  a  franc  was  of  real 
importance.  The  struggles  of  la  famille  anglais e  to 
clothe  and  feed  and  educate  themselves  were  no  light 
affair.  The  eldest  boy,  now  studying  for  the  con- 
sular service,  absorbed  a  third  of  their  entire  income. 
The  sacrifices  involved  for  his  sake  affected  each  one 
in  countless  ways.  And  for  two  years  now  these 
magic  boxes  had  supplied  all  his  suits  and  shirts  and 
boots.  The  Scotch  cousins  luckily  included  a  boy  of 
his  own  size  who  had  extravagant  taste  in  clothes. 
A  box  sometimes  held  as  many  as  four  excellent 
suits.  Daddy  contented  himself  with  one  a  year — 
ordered  ready  -  made  from  the  place  they  called 
*  Chasbakerinhighholborn.'  Mother's  clothes  were 
1  wropp  in  mystery  '  ever.  No  one  ever  discovered 
where  they  came  from  or  how  she  made  them.  She 
did.  It  seemed  always  the  same  black  dress  and  velvet 
blouse. 

Gravity  and  laughter,  therefore,  mingled  in  Daddy's 
face  as  he  drew  out  one  paper  parcel  after  another, 
opened  it,  tried  the  article  on  himself,  and  handed  it 
next  to  be  tried  on  similarly  by  every  one  in  turn. 

And  the  first  extraction  from  the  magic  box  was 
a  curious  looking  thing  that  no  one  recognised. 
Daddy  unfolded  it  and    placed  it   solemnly   on   his 


256       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

head.  He  longed  for  things  for  himself,  but  rarely 
found  them.  He  tried  on  everything,  hoping  it 
might  'just  do,'  but  in  the  end  yielded  it  with  pleasure 
to  the  others.  He  rarely  got  more  than  a  pair  of 
gloves  or  a  couple  of  neckties  for  himself.  The 
coveted  suits  just  missed  his  size. 

Grave  as  a  judge  he  balanced  the  erection  on  his 
head.  It  made  a  towering  heap.  Every  one  was 
puzzled.  *  It's  a  motor  cap,'  ventured  some  one  at 
length  in  a  moment  of  intuition. 

'  It's  several ! '  cried  Monkey.  She  snatched  the 
bundle  and  handed  it  to  Mother.  There  were  four 
motor  caps,  neatly  packed  together.  Mother  put  on 
each  in  turn.  They  were  in  shades  of  grey.  They 
became  her  well. 

'  You  look  like  a  duchess,'  said  Daddy  proudly. 
'  You'd  better  keep  them  all.' 

'  1  think  perhaps  they'll  do,'  she  said,  moving  to 
the  glass,  '  if  no  one  else  can  wear  them.'  She 
flushed  a  little  and  looked  self-conscious. 

1  They  want  long  pins,'  suggested  Jinny.  '  They'll 
keep  the  rain  off  too,  like  an  umbrella.'  She  laughed 
and  clapped  her  hands.  Mother  pinned  one  on  and 
left  it  there  for  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon.  The 
unpacking  of  the  case  continued. 

The  next  discovery  was  gloves.  The  lid  of  the 
box  looked  like  a  counter  in  a  glove  shop.  There 
were  gloves  of  leather  and  chamois,  gauntlets, 
driving-gloves,  and  gloves  of  suede,  yellow,  brown, 
and  grey.  All  had  been  used  a  little,  but  all  were 
good.  'They'll  wash,'  said  Jane  Anne.  They 
were  set  aside  in  a  little  heap  apart.  No  one 
coveted  them.  It  was  not  worth  while.  In  the 
forests  of  Bourcelles  gloves  were  at  a  discount,  and 
driving  a   pleasure   yet   unknown.     Jinny,  however 


xix  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        257 

a  little  later  put  on  a  pair  of  ladies'  suede  that 
caught  her  fancy,  and  wore  them  faithfully  to  the 
end  of  the  performance,  just  to  keep  her  mother's 
motor  cap  in  countenance. 

The  main  contents  of  the  box  were  as  yet  un- 
broached,  however,  and  when  next  an  overcoat 
appeared,  with  velvet  collar  and  smart,  turned-up 
cuffs,  Daddy  beamed  like  a  boy  and  was  into  it 
before  any  one  could  prevent.  He  went  behind  a 
screen.  The  coat  obviously  did  not  fit  him,  but  he 
tugged  and  pulled  and  wriggled  his  shoulders  with 
an  air  of  '  things  that  won't  fit  must  be  made  to  fit.' 

1  You'll  bust  the  seams  !  You'll  split  the  buttons  ! 
See  what's  in  the  pockets ! '  cried  several  voices, 
while  he  shifted  to  and  fro  like  a  man  about  to 
fight. 

1  It  may  stretch,'  he  said  hopefully.  «  I  think  1 
can  use  it.  It's  just  what  I  want.'  He  glanced  up 
at  his  wife  whose  face,  however,  was  relentless. 

'  Maybe,'  replied  the  practical  mother,  '  but  it's 
more  Edward's  build,  perhaps.'  He  looked  fearfully 
disappointed,  but  kept  it  on.  Edward  got  the  best 
of  every  box.  He  went  on  with  the  unpacking, 
giving  the  coat  sly  twitches  from  time  to  time,  as 
he  pulled  out  blouses,  skirts,  belts,  queer  female 
garments,  boots,  soft  felt  hats — the  green  Horn  burg 
he  put  on  at  once,  as  who  should  dare  to  take  it 
from  him — black  and  brown  Trilbys,  shooting-caps, 
gaiters,  flannel  shirts,  pyjamas,  and  heaven  knows 
what  else  besides. 

The  excitement  was  prodigious,  and  the  floor 
looked  like  a  bargain  sale.  Everybody  talked  at 
once ;  there  was  no  more  pretence  of  keeping  order 
Mile.  Lemaire  lay  propped  against  her  pillows, 
watching  the  scene  with  feelings  between  tears  and 

s 


258        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

laughter.  Each  member  of  the  family  tried  on 
everything  in  turn,  but  yielded  the  treasures  instantly 
at  a  word  from  Mother — '  That  will  do  for  so  and 
so  ;  this  will  fit  Monkey  ;  Jimbo,  you  take  this,' 
and  so  on. 

The  door  into  the  adjoining  bedroom  was  for  ever 
opening  and  shutting,  as  the  children  disappeared 
with  armfuls  and  reappeared  five  minutes  later, 
marvellously  apparelled.  There  was  no  attempt  at 
sorting  yet.  Blouses  and  flannel  trousers  lay  upon 
the  floor  with  boots  and  motor  veils.  Every  one  had 
something,  and  the  pile  set  aside  for  Edward  grew 
apace.  Only  Jimbo  was  disconsolate.  He  was  too 
small  for  everything  ;  even  the  ladies'  boots  were 
too  narrow  and  too  pointed  for  his  little  feet.  From 
time  to  time  he  rummaged  with  the  hammer  and 
chisel  (still  held  very  tightly)  among  the  mass  of 
paper  at  the  bottom.  But,  as  usual,  there  was 
nothing  but  gaudy  neckties  that  he  could  use.  And 
these  he  did  not  care  about.  He  said  no  word,  but 
stood  there  watching  the  others  and  trying  to  laugh, 
only  keeping  the  tears  back  with  the  greatest 
difficulty. 

From  his  position  in  the  background  Rogers 
took  it  all  in.  He  moved  up  and  slipped  a  ten- 
franc  piece  into  the  boy's  hand.  { Secretaries  don't 
wear  clothes  like  this,'  he  whispered.  '  We'll  go 
into  town  to-morrow  and  get  the  sort  of  thing  you 
want.' 

Jimbo  looked  up  and  stared.  He  stood  on  tip- 
toe to  kiss  him.  '  Oh,  thank  you  so  much,'  he  said, 
fearful  lest  the  others  should  see  ;  and  tucked  the 
coin  away  into  a  pocket  underneath  his  cotton  blouse. 
A  moment  later  he  came  back  from  the  corner 
where    he    had    hid    himself  to    examine   it      '  But, 


xix  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        259 

Cousin  Henry,'  he  whispered,  utterly  astonished,  '  it's 
gold.'  He  had  thought  the  coin  was  a  ten-centime 
piece  such  as  Daddy  sometimes  gave  him.  He  could 
not  believe  it.  He  had  never  seen  gold  before.  He 
ran  up  and  told  his  parents.  His  sisters  were  too 
excited  to  be  told  just  then.  After  that  he  vanished 
into  the  passage  without  being  noticed,  and  when  he 
returned  five  minutes  later  his  eyes  were  suspiciously 
red.  But  no  one  heard  him  say  a  word  about 
getting  nothing  out  of  the  box.  He  stood  aside, 
with  a  superior  manner  and  looked  quietly  on.  '  It's 
very  nice  for  the  girls,'  his  expression  said.  His 
interest  in  the  box  had  grown  decidedly  less.  He 
could  buy  an  entire  shop  for  himself  now. 

*  Mother,  Daddy,  everybody,'  cried  an  excited 
voice,  '  will  you  look  at  me  a  minute,  please  !  It 
all  fits  me  perfectly,'  and  Jinny  emerged  from  the 
bedroom  door.  She  had  been  trying  on.  A  rough 
brown  dress  of  Harris  tweed  became  her  well ;  she 
wore  a  motor  veil  about  her  head,  and  another  was 
tied  round  her  neck  ;  a  white  silk  blouse,  at  least 
one  size  too  large  for  her,  bulged  voluminously 
from  beneath  the  neat  tweed  jacket.  She  wore  her 
suede  gloves  still.  '  And  there's  an  outside  pocket 
in  the  skirt,  you  see.'  She  pulled  it  up  and  showed 
a  very  pointed  pair  of  brown  boots  ;  they  were  much 
too  long  ;  they  looked  ridiculous  after  her  square 
village  boots.  '  I  can  waggle  my  toes  in  them,'  she 
explained,  strutting  to  and  fro  to  be  admired.  '  I'm 
a  fashionable  monster  now  ! ' 

But  she  only  held  the  centre  of  the  stage  a 
minute,  for  Monkey  entered  at  her  heels,  bursting 
with  delight  in  a  long  green  macintosh  thrown  over 
another  tweed  skirt  that  hid  her  feet  and  even 
trailed  behind.     A  pair  of  yellow  spats  were  visible 


26o        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

sometimes  that  spread  fan-shaped  over  her  boots  and 
climbed  half-way  up  the  fat  legs. 

'  It  all  fits  me  exaccurately,'  was  her  opinion. 
The  sisters  went  arm  in  arm  about  the  room,  dancing 
and  laughing. 

'  We're  busy  blackmailers,'  cried  Jinny,  using  her 
latest  acquisition  which  she  practised  on  all  possible 
occasions.  '  We're  in  Piccadilly,  going  to  see  the 
Queen  for  tea.' 

They  tripped  over  Monkey's  train  and  one  of 
the  spats  came  off  in  the  struggle  for  recovery. 
Daddy,  in  his  Homburg  hat,  looked  round  and  told 
them  sternly  to  make  less  noise.  Behind  a  screen  he 
was  getting  surreptitiously  into  a  suit  that  Mother 
had  put  aside  for  Edward.  He  tried  on  several  in 
this  way,  hopeful  to  the  last. 

'  I  think  this  will  fit  me  all  right,'  he  said 
presently,  emerging  with  a  grave  expression  on  his 
puckered  face.  He  seemed  uncertain  about  it.  He 
was  solemn  as  a  judge.  '  You  could  alter  the 
buttons  here  and  there,  you  know,'  and  he  looked 
anxiously  at  his  wife.  The  coat  ran  up  behind,  the 
waistcoat  creased  badly  owing  to  the  strain,  and  the 
trousers  were  as  tight  as  those  of  a  cavalry  officer. 
Anywhere,  and  any  moment,  he  might  burst  out 
into  unexpected  revelation.  '  A  little  alteration,' 
he  suggested  hopefully,  '  and  it  would  be  all  right — 
don't  you  think  ? '     And  then  he  added  '  perhaps.' 

He  turned  and  showed  himself.  Even  the  roar 
of  laughter  that  greeted  his  appearance  did  not  quite 
convince  him.  He  looked  like  a  fat,  impoverished 
bookmaker. 

'  I  think  it  will  fit  Edward  better,'  said  Mother 
again  without  pity,  for  she  did  not  like  to  see  her 
husband  look  foolish  before  the  children.     He  dis- 


xix         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        261 

appeared  hehind  the  screen,  but  repeated  the 
performance  with  two  other  suits.  '  This  striped 
one  seems  a  little  looser,'  he  said  ;  or,  '  If  you'd  let 
out  the  trousers  at  the  bottom,  I  think  they  would 
do.'  But  in  the  end  all  he  got  from  the  box  was 
two  pairs  of  pink  silk  pyjamas,  the  Homburg  hat, 
several  pairs  of  gloves,  spats,  and  gaiters,  and  half 
a  dozen  neckties  that  no  one  else  would  wear.  He 
made  his  heap  carefully  in  the  corner  of  the  room, 
and  later,  when  the  mess  was  all  cleared  up  and 
everybody  went  off  with  their  respective  treasures, 
he  entirely  forgot  them  in  his  pleasure  and  admira- 
tion of  the  others.  He  left  them  lying  in  the 
corner.  Riquette  slept  on  them  that  night,  and 
next  morning  Jimbo  brought  them  over  for  him  to 
the  carpenter's  house.  And  Edward  later  magna- 
nimously yielded  up  two  flannel  shirts  because  he 
had  so  many  left  over  from  the  previous  box.  Also 
a  pair  of  pumps. 

'  I've  not  done  so  badly  after  all,'  was  his  final 
matured  opinion.  '  Poor  mother  !  She  got  nothing 
but  motor  caps.'  Jimbo,  however,  had  made  a  final 
discovery  of  value  for  himself — of  some  value,  at 
least.  When  the  empty  case  was  overturned  as  a 
last  hope,  he  rummaged  among  the  paper  with  his 
hammer  and  chisel,  and  found  four  pairs  of  golf 
stockings  !  The  legs  fitted  him  admirably,  but  the 
feet  were  much  too  big.  There  was  some  discussion 
as  to  whether  they  had  belonged  to  a  very  thin- 
legged  boy  with  big  feet  or  to  a  girl  who  had  no 
calves.  Luckily,  the  former  was  decided  upon,  for 
otherwise  they  would  have  given  no  pleasure  to 
Jimbo.  Even  as  it  was,  he  adopted  them  chiefly 
because  it  pleased  his  parents.  Mother  cut  off  the 
feet  and  knitted  new  ones  a  little  smaller.     But  there 


262     A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       ch.  xix 

was  no  mystery  about  those  stockings.  No  special 
joy  went  with  them.  He  had  watched  Mother 
knitting  too  often  for  that  ;  she  could  make  stockings 
half  asleep. 

Two  hours  later,  while  Jane  Ann  and  Mother 
prepared  the  tea  in  the  Den,  Daddy,  Jimbo,  and 
Cousin  Henry  went  in  a  procession  to  the  carpenter's 
house  carrying  the  piles  of  clothing  in  their  arms  to 
the  astonishment  of  half  the  village.  They  were 
to  be  re-sorted  there  in  privacy  by  the  '  men,'  where 
the  '  children  '  could  not  interfere.  The  things  they 
could  not  use  were  distributed  later  among  the 
governesses  ;  the  Pension  and  the  village  also,  got 
their  share.  And  the  Postmaster  got  his  hat — a 
black  Trilby.     He  loved  its  hue. 

And  for  days  afterwards  the  children  hoarded 
their  treasures  with  unholy  joy.  What  delighted 
them  as  much  as  anything,  perhaps,  were  the 
coronets  upon  the  pyjamas  and  the  shirts.  They 
thought  it  was  a  London  or  Edinburgh  laundry 
mark.  But  Jimbo  told  them  otherwise  :  '  It  means 
that  Daddy's  Cousin  is  a  Lord-and-Waiting,  and  goes 
to  see  the  King.'  This  explanation  was  generally 
accepted. 

The  relief  to  the  parents,  however,  as  they  sat  up 
in  the  Den  that  night  and  discussed  how  much  this 
opportune  Magic  Box  had  saved  them,  may  be  better 
imagined  than  described.  The  sum  ran  into  many, 
many  francs.  Edward  had  suits  now  for  at  least 
two  years.  '  He's  stopped  growing,'  said  his 
mother  ;  '  thank  goodness,'  said  his  father. 

And  to  the  long  list  he  prayed  for  twice  a  day 
Jimbo  added  of  his  accord,  '  Ceux  qui  ont  envoye  la 
grosse  caisse.' 


CHAPTER   XX 

Break  up  the  heavens,  O  Lord  !  and  far. 

Thro'  all  yon  starlight  keen, 
Draw  me,  thy  bride,  a  glittering  star, 

In  raiment  white  and  clean. 

He  lifts  me  to  the  golden  door3  ; 

The  flashes  come  and  go  ; 
All  heaven  bursts  her  starry  floors, 

And  strews  her  lights  below. 

St.  Agnes'  Eve,  Tennyson. 

Miss  Waghorn,  of  late,  had  been  unusually  trying, 
and  especially  full  of  complaints.  Her  poor  old 
memory  seemed  broken  beyond  repair.  She  offered 
Madame  Jequier  her  weekly  payment  twice  within 
ten  minutes,  and  was  quite  snappy  about  it  when 
the  widow  declined  the  second  tender. 

{ But  you  had  the  receipt  in  your  hand  wizin  ten 
minutes  ago,  Mees  Wag'orn.  You  took  it  upstairs. 
The  ink  can  hardly  be  now  already  yet  dry.' 

But  nothing  would  satisfy  her  that  she  had  paid 
until  they  went  up  to  her  room  together  and  found 
it  after  much  searching  between  her  Bible  and  her 
eternal  novel  on  the  writing-table. 

'  Forgive  me,  Madame,  but  you  do  forget  some- 
times, don't  you  ? '  she  declared  with  amusing 
audacity.  {I  like  to  make  quite  sure — especially 
where  money  is  concerned.'  On  entering  the  room 
she  had  entirely  forgotten  why  they  came  there. 
She  began  complaining,  instead,  about  the  bed,  which 

263 


264        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

had  not  yet  been  made.  A  standing  source  of 
grumbling,  this  ;  for  the  old  lady  would  come 
down  to  breakfast  many  a  morning,  and  then  go 
up  again  before  she  had  it,  thinking  it  was  already 
late  in  the  day.  She  worried  the  pensionnalres  to 
death,  too.  It  was  their  duty  to  keep  the  salon 
tidy,  and  Miss  Waghorn  would  flutter  into  the  room 
as  early  as  eight  o'clock,  find  the  furniture  still  un- 
arranged,  and  at  once  dart  out  again  to  scold  the 
girls.  These  interviews  were  amusing  before  they 
became  monotonous,  for  the  old  lady's  French  was 
little  more  than  '  nong  pas '  attached  to  an  infinitive 
verb,  and  the  girls'  Swiss-German  explanations  of 
the  alleged  neglect  of  duty  only  confused  her. 
'  Nong  pas  faire  la  chambre,'  she  would  say,  stamp- 
ing her  foot  with  vexation.  '  You  haven't  done 
the  room,  though  it's  nearly  dejooner  time  ! '  Or 
else — '  Ten  minutes  ago  it  was  tidy.  Look  at  it 
now  !  '  while  she  dragged  them  in  and  forced  them 
to  put  things  straight,  until  some  one  in  authority 
came  and  explained  gently  her  mistake.  '  Oh,  excuse 
me,  Madame,'  she  would  say  then,  'but  they  do  forget 
so  often.'  Every  one  was  very  patient  with  her  as 
a  rule. 

And  of  late  she  had  been  peculiarly  meddlesome, 
putting  chairs  straight,  moving  vases,  altering  the 
lie  of  table-cloths  and  the  angle  of  sofas,  opening 
windows  because  it  was  '  so  stuffy,'  and  closing  them 
a  minute  later  with  complaints  about  the  draught, 
forcing  occupants  of  arm-chairs  to  get  up  because 
the  carpet  was  caught,  fiddling  with  pictures  because 
they  were  crooked  either  with  floor  or  ceiling,  and 
never  realising  that  in  the  old  house  these  latter 
were  nowhere  parallel.  But  her  chief  occupation 
was  to  prevent  the  children  crossing  their  legs  when 


XX 


A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        26  c 


they  sat  down,  or  pulling  their  dresses  lower,  with 
a  whispered, '  You  must  not  cross  your  legs  like  that  ; 
it  isn't  ladylike,  dear.' 

She  had  been  very  exasperating  and  interfering. 
Tempers  had  grown  short.  Twice  running  she 
had  complained  about  the  dreadful  noise  the  pen- 
sionnaires  made  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. '  Nong  pas  creer  comme  9a !  '  she  called, 
running  down  the  passage  in  her  dressing-gown  and 
bursting  angrily  into  their  rooms  without  knocking 
— to  find  them  empty.  The  girls  had  left  the  day 
before. 

But  to-day  (the  morning  after  the  Star  Cave 
adventure)  the  old  lady  was  calmer,  almost  soothed, 
and  at  supper  she  was  composed  and  gentle. 
Sleep,  for  some  reason,  had  marvellously  refreshed 
her.  Attacks  that  opened  as  usual  about  Cornish 
Cream  or  a  Man  with  a  long  Beard,  she  repelled 
easily  and  quietly.  '  I've  told  you  that  story 
before,  my  dear  ;  I  know  I  have.'  It  seemed  her 
mind  and  memory  were  more  orderly  somehow. 
And  the  Widow  Jequier  explained  how  sweet  and 
good-natured  she  had  been  all  day — better  than  for 
years.  '  When  I  took  her  drops  upstairs  at  eleven 
o'clock  I  found  her  tidying  her  room  ;  she  was 
sorting  her  bills  and  papers.  She  read  me  a  letter 
she  had  written  to  her  nephew  to  come  out  and 
take  her  home — well  written  and  quite  coherent. 
I've  not  known  her  mind  so  clear  for  months. 
Her  memory,  too.  She  said  she  had  slept  so  well. 
If  only  it  would  last,  hilas  ! ' 

'  There  are  days  like  that,'  she  added  presently, 
'  days  when  everything  goes  right  and  easily.  One 
wakes  up  happy  in  the  morning  and  sees  only  the 
bright  side  of  things.     Hope  is  active,  and  one  has 


266        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

new  courage  somehow.'  She  spoke  with  feeling, 
her  face  was  brighter,  clearer,  her  mind  less  anxious. 
She  had  planned  a  visit  to  the  Bank  Manager  about 
the  mortgages.  It  had  come  as  an  inspiration.  It 
might  be  fruitless,  but  she  was  hopeful,  and  so 
knew  a  little  peace.  '  I  wonder  why  it  is,'  she 
added,  '  and  what  brings  these  changes  into  the  heart 
so  suddenly.' 

c  Good  sleep  and  sound  digestion,'  Mrs.  Campden 
thought.  She  expressed  her  views  deliberately  like 
this  in  order  to  counteract  any  growth  of  fantasy  in 
the  children. 

*  But  it  is  strange,'  her  husband  said,  remembering 
his  new  story  ;  '  it  may  be  much  deeper  than  that. 
While  the  body  sleeps  the  spirit  may  get  into  touch 

with  helpful  forces '      His   French  failed   him. 

He  wumbled  painfully. 

*  Thought-forces  possibly  from  braver  minds,'  put 
in  Rogers.  *  Who  knows  ?  Sleep  and  dreaming 
have  never  really  been  explained.'  He  recalled  a 
theory  of  Minks. 

1 1  dream  a  great  deal,'  Miss  Waghorn  observed, 
eager  to  take  part.  '  It's  delightful,  dreaming — if 
only  one  could  remember  !  '  She  looked  round  the 
table  with  challenge  in  her  eager  old  eyes.  But 
no  one  took  her  up.  It  involved  such  endless 
repetition  of  well-known  stories.  The  Postmaster 
might  have  said  a  word  —  he  looked  prepared — 
but,  not  understanding  English,  he  went  on  with 
his  salad  instead. 

1  Life  is  a  dream,'  observed  Monkey,  while  Jinny 
seemed  uncertain  whether  she  should  laugh  or  take 
it  seriously. 

The  Widow  Jequier  overheard  her.  There  was 
little  she  did  not  overhear 


xx  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        267 

'  Coquine  ! '  she  said,  then  quoted  with  a  senti- 
mental sigh  : — 

La  vie  est  breve, 
Un  peu  d'amour. 
Un  peu  de  r£ve 
Et  puis — bonjour  ! 

She  hung  her  head  sideways  a  moment  for  effect. 
There  was  a  pause  all  down  the  long  table. 

*  I'm  sure  dreams  have  significance,'  she  went  on. 
'  There's  more  in  dreaming  than  one  thinks.  They 
come  as  warnings  or  encouragement.  All  the  saints 
had  dreams.     I  always  pay  attention  to  mine.' 

•  Madame,  /  dream  a  great  deal,'  repeated  Miss 
Waghorn,  anxious  not  to  be  left  out  of  a  conversa- 
tion in  which  she  understood  at  least  the  key-word 
reve  ;  '  a  very  great  deal,  I  may  say.' 

Several  looked  up,  ready  to  tell  nightmares  of 
their  own  at  the  least  sign  of  encouragement.  The 
Postmaster  faced  the  table,  laying  down  his  knife 
and  fork.  He  took  a  deep  breath.  This  time  he 
meant  to  have  his  say.  But  his  deliberation  always 
lost  him  openings. 

'  /  don't,'  exclaimed  Jinny,  bluntly,  five  minutes 
behind  the  others.  '  When  I'm  in  bed,  I  sleep.' 
The  statement  brought  laughter  that  confused  her 
a  little.  She  loved  to  define  her  position.  She  had 
defined  it.  And  the  Postmaster  had  lost  his  chance. 
Mile.  Sandoz,  a  governess  who  was  invited  to  supper 
as  payment  for  a  music  lesson  given  to  his  boy,  seized 
the  opening. 

'  Last  night  I  dreamed  that  a  bull  chased  me. 
Now  what  did  that  mean,  I  wonder  ?  ' 

'  That  there  was  no  danger  since  it  was  only  a 
dream ! '  said  the  Postmaster  sharply,  vexed  that  he 
had  not  told  his  own. 


268        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

But  no  one  applauded,  for  it  was  the  fashion 
to  ignore  his  observations,  unless  they  had  to  do 
with  stamps  and  weights  of  letters,  parcels,  and 
the  like.  A  clatter  of  voices  rose,  as  others, 
taking  courage,  decided  to  tell  experiences  of 
their  own  ;  but  it  was  the  Postmaster's  wife  in 
the  hall  who  won.  She  had  her  meals  outside  with 
the  kitchenmaid  and  her  niece,  who  helped  in  the 
Post  Office,  and  she  always  tried  to  take  part  in  the 
conversation  from  a  distance  thus.  She  plunged  into 
a  wordy  description  of  a  lengthy  dream  that  had  to 
do  with  clouds,  three  ravens,  and  a  mysterious  face. 
All  listened,  most  of  them  in  mere  politeness,  for  as 
cook  she  was  a  very  important  personage  who  could 
furnish  special  dishes  on  occasion — but  her  sister 
listened  as  to  an  oracle.  She  nodded  her  head  and 
made  approving  gestures,  and  said,  *  Aha,  you  see,' 
or  '  Ah,  voila  !  '  as  though  that  helped  to  prove  the 
importance  of  the  dream,  if  not  its  actual  truth. 
And  the  sister  came  to  the  doorway  so  that  no  one 
could  escape.  She  stood  there  in  her  apron,  her  face 
hot  and  flushed  still  from  the  kitchen. 

At  length  it  came  to  an  end,  and  she  looked  round 
her,  hoping  for  a  little  sympathetic  admiration,  or  at 
least  for  expressions  of  wonder  and  interest.  All 
waited  for  some  one  else  to  speak.  Into  the  pause 
came  her  husband's  voice,  '  Je  n'ai  pas  de  sel.' 

There  was  no  resentment.  It  was  an  everyday 
experience.  The  spell  was  broken  instantly.  The 
cook  retired  to  her  table  and  told  the  dream  all 
over  again  with  emphatic  additions  to  her  young 
companions.  The  Postmaster  got  his  salt  and  con- 
tinued eating  busily  as  though  dreams  were  only  fit 
for  women  and  children  to  talk  about.  And  the 
English  group   began  whispering  excitedly  of  their 


xx  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        269 

Magic  Box  and  all  it  had  contained.  They  were 
tired  of  dreams  and  dreaming. 

Tante  Jeanne  made  a  brave  effort  to  bring  the 
conversation  back  to  the  key  of  sentiment  and 
mystery  she  loved,  but  it  was  not  a  success. 

'  At  any  rate  I'm  certain  one's  mood  on  going  to 
bed  decides  the  kind  of  dream  that  comes,'  she  said 
into  the  air.  c  The  last  thought  before  going  to  sleep 
is  very  important.  It  influences  the  adventures  of 
the  soul  when  it  leaves  the  body  every  night.' 

For  this  was  a  tenet  of  her  faith,  although  she 
always  forgot  to  act  upon  it.  Only  Miss  Waghorn 
continued  the  train  of  ideas  this  started,  with  a 
coherence  that  surprised  even  herself.  Somehow 
the  jabber  about  dreams,  though  in  a  language  that 
only  enabled  her  to  catch  its  general  drift,  had 
interested  her  uncommonly.  She  seemed  on  the 
verge  of  remembering  something.  She  had  listened 
with  patience,  a  look  of  peace  upon  her  anxious  old 
face  that  was  noticed  even  by  Jane  Anne.  '  It 
smoothed  her  out,'  was  her  verdict  afterwards,  given 
only  to  herself  though.  '  Everything  is  a  sort  of  long 
unfinished  dream  to  her,  I  suppose,  at  that  age.' 

While  the  famille  anglaise  renewed  noisily  their 
excitement  of  the  Magic  Box,  and  while  the  talk  in 
the  hall  went  on  and  on,  re-hashing  the  details  of  the 
cook's  marvellous  experience,  and  assuming  entirely 
new  proportions,  Miss  Waghorn  glanced  about  her 
seeking  whom  she  might  devour — and  her  eye  caught 
Henry  Rogers,  listening  as  usual  in  silence. 

'  Ah,'  she  said  to  him,  '  but  /  look  forward  to 
sleep.  I  might  say  I  long  for  it.'  She  sighed  very 
audibly.  It  was  both  a  sigh  for  release  and  a  faint 
remembrance  that  last  night  her  sleep  had  been 
somehow  deep  and  happy,  strangely  comforting. 


270        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap, 

'  It  is  welcome  sometimes,  isn't  it  ? '  he  answered, 
always  polite  and  rather  gentle  with  her. 

'  Sleep  unravels,  yes,'  she  said,  vaguely  as  to 
context,  yet  with  a  querulous  intensity.  It  was  as  if 
she  caught  at  the  enthusiasm  of  a  connected  thought 
somewhere.  '  I  might  even  say  it  unties,'  she  added, 
encouraged  by  his  nod,  '  unties  knots — if  you  follow 
me.' 

'  It  does,  Miss  Waghorn.  Indeed,  it  does.'  Was 
this  a  precursor  of  the  Brother  with  the  Beard,  he 
wondered  ?  *  Untied  knots  '  would  inevitably  start 
her  off.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  listen  to  the  tale 
with  interest  for  the  twentieth  time  if  it  came.  But 
it  didn't  come. 

*  I  am  very  old  and  lonely,  and  /  need  the  best,' 
she  went  on  happily,  half  saying  it  to  herself. 

Instantly  he  took  her  up — without  surprise  too. 
It  was  like  a  dream. 

'  Quite  so.     The  rest,  the  common  stuff ' 

'  Is  good  enough '  she  chimed  in  quickly — 

*  For  Fraulein,  or  for  baby,  or  for  mother,'  he 
laughed. 

'Or  any  other,'  chuckled  Miss  Waghorn. 
1  Who  needs  a  bit  of  sleep ' 

*  But  yet  can  do  without  it '  she  carried  it  on. 

Then  both  together,  after  a  second's  pause — 

*  If  they  must '  and  burst  out  laughing. 

Goodness,  how  did  she  know  the  rhyme  ?     Was 

it  everywhere  ?  Was  thought  running  loose  like 
wireless  messages  to  be  picked  up  by  all  who  were 
in  tune  for  acceptance  ? 

'  Well,  I  never  ! '  he  heard  her  exclaim,  '  if  that's 
not  a  nursery  rhyme  of  my  childhood  that  I've  not 
heard  for  sixty  years  and  more  !  I  declare,'  she 
added  with  innocent  effrontery,  '  I've  not  heard   it 


xx  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        271 

since  I  was  ten  years  old.  And  I  was  born  in  '37 — 
the  year ' 

1  Just  fancy  ! '  he  tried  to  stop  her. 

'  Queen  Victoria  came  to  the  throne.' 

'  Strange,'  he  said  more  to  himself  than  to  any 
one  else.     She  did  not  contradict  him. 

'  You  or  me  ? '  asked  Monkey,  who  overheard. 

1  All  of  us,'  he  answered.  '  We  all  think  the 
same  things.  It's  a  dream,  I  believe  ;  the  whole 
thing  is  a  dream.' 

'  It's  a  fact  though,'  said  Miss  Waghorn  with 
decision,  '  and  now  I  must  go  and  write  my  letters, 
and  then  finish  a  bit  of  lace  I'm  doing.  You  will 
excuse  me  ? '  She  rose,  made  a  little  bow,  and  left 
the  table. 

Mother  watched  her  go.  *  What  has  come  over 
the  old  lady  ? '  she  thought.  '  She  seems  to  be 
getting  back  her  mind  and  memory  too.  How 
very  odd  ! ' 

In  the  afternoon  Henry  Rogers  had  been  into 
Neuchatel.  It  seemed  he  had  some  business  there 
of  a  rather  private  nature.  He  was  very  mysterious 
about  it,  evading  several  offers  to  accompany  him,  and 
after  supper  he  retired  early  to  his  own  room  in  the 
carpenter's  house.  And,  since  he  now  was  the  prin- 
cipal attraction,  a  sort  of  magnet  that  drew  the  train 
of  younger  folk  into  his  neighbourhood,  the  Pension 
emptied,  and  the  English  family,  deprived  of  their 
leader,  went  over  to  the  Den. 

1  Partir  a  l'anglaise,'  laughed  the  Widow  Jequier, 
as  she  saw  them  file  away  downstairs  ;  and  then  she 
sighed.  Some  day,  when  the  children  were  older 
and  needed  a  different  education,  they  would  all  go 
finally.     Down  these  very  stairs  they  would  go  into 


272        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

the  street.  She  loved  them  for  themselves,  but,  also, 
the  English  family  was  a  permanent  source  of  income 
to  her,  and  the  chief.  They  stayed  on  in  the  winter, 
when  boarders  were  few  and  yet  living  expenses 
doubled.  She  sighed,  and  fluttered  into  her  tiny 
room  to  take  her  finery  off",  finery  that  had  once 
been  worn  in  Scotland  and  had  reached  her  by  way 
of  Cook  and  la  petite  Vitesse  in  the  Magic  Box. 

And  presently  she  fluttered  out  again  and  sum- 
moned her  sister.  The  Postmaster  had  gone  to 
bed  ;  the  kitchen  girl  was  washing  up  the  last  dishes ; 
Miss  Waghorn  would  hardly  come  down  again.  The 
salon  was  deserted. 

'  Come,  Anita,'  she  cried,  yet  with  a  hush  of 
excitement  in  her  voice,  '  we  will  have  an  evening 
of  it.  Bring  the  soucoupe  with  you,  while  I  prepare 
the  little  table.'  In  her  greasy  kitchen  apron  Anita 
came.  Zizi,  her  boy,  came  with  her.  Madame 
Jequier,  with  her  flowing  garment  that  was  tea-gown, 
garden-dress,  and  dressing-gown  all  in  one,  looked 
really  like  a  witch,  her  dark  hair  all  askew  and  her 
eyes  shining  with  mysterious  anticipation.  *  We'll 
ask  the  spirits  for  help  and  guidance,'  she  said  to 
herself,  lest  the  boy  should  overhear.  For  Zizi  often 
helped  them  with  their  amateur  planchette,  only  they 
told  him  it  was  electricity :  le  magnetisme,  le  fluide, 
was  the  term  they  generally  made  use  of.  Its  vague- 
ness covered  all  possible  explanations  with  just  the 
needed  touch  of  confusion  and  suggestion  in  it. 

They  settled  down  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  where 
the  ivy  from  the  ceiling  nearly  touched  their  heads. 
The  small  round  table  was  produced ;  the  saucer, 
with  an  arrow  pencilled  on  its  edge,  was  carefully 
placed  upon  the  big  sheet  of  paper  which  bore  the 
letters  of  the  alphabet  and  the  words  out  and  non  in 


xx  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        273 

the  corners.  The  light  behind  them  was  half  veiled 
by  ivy  ;  the  rest  of  the  old  room  lay  in  comparative 
darkness  ;  through  the  half- opened  door  a  lamp 
shone  upon  the  oil-cloth  in  the  hall,  showing  the 
stains  and  the  worn,  streaked  patches  where  the  boards 
peeped  through.     The  house  was  very  still. 

They  began  with  a  little  prayer  —  to  ceux  qui 
icoutent, — and  then  each  of  them  placed  a  finger  on 
the  rim  of  the  upturned  saucer,  waiting  in  silence. 
They  were  a  study  in  darkness,  those  three  pointing 
fingers. 

'  Zizi,  tu  as  beaucoup  de  fluide  ce  soir,  oui  ? ' 
whispered  the  widow  after  a  considerable  interval. 

'  Oh,  comme  d'habitude,'  he  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders. He  loved  these  mysterious  experiments,  but 
he  never  claimed  much  fluide  until  the  saucer  moved, 
jealous  of  losing  his  reputation  as  a  storehouse  of 
this  strange,  human  electricity. 

Yet  behind  this  solemn  ritual,  that  opened  with 
prayer  and  invariably  concluded  with  hope  renewed 
and  courage  strengthened,  ran  the  tragic  element  that 
no  degree  of  comedy  could  kill.  In  the  hearts  of 
the  two  old  women,  ever  fighting  their  uphill  battle 
with  adversity,  burned  the  essence  of  big  faith,  the 
faith  that  plays  with  mountains.  Hidden  behind  the 
curtain,  an  indulgent  onlooker  might  have  smiled, 
but  tears  would  have  wet  his  eyes  before  the  smile 
could  have  broadened  into  laughter.  Tante  Jeanne, 
indeed,  had  heard  that  the  subconscious  mind  was 
held  to  account  for  the  apparent  intelligence  that 
occasionally  betrayed  itself  in  the  laboriously  spelled 
replies  ;  she  even  made  use  of  the  word  from  time 
to  time  to  baffle  Zizi's  too  importunate  inquiries. 
But  after  le  subconscient  she  always  tacked  on  fluide, 
magnetisme^  or  electriciti,  lest  he  should  be  frightened, 

T 


274        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

or  she  should  lose  her  way.  And  of  course  she  held  to 
her  belief  that  spirits  produced  the  phenomena.  A 
subconscious  mind  was  a  cold  and  comfortless  idea. 

And,  as  usual,  the  saucer  told  them  exactly  what 
they  had  desired  to  know,  suggested  ways  and  means 
that  hid  already  in  the  mind  of  one  or  other,  yet  in 
stammered  sentences  that  included  just  enough  sur- 
prise or  turn  of  phrase  to  confirm  their  faith  and 
save  their  self-respect.  It  was  their  form  of  prayer, 
and  with  whole  hearts  they  prayed.  Moreover,  they 
acted  on  what  was  told  them.  Had  they  discovered 
that  it  was  merely  the  content  of  their  subconscious 
mind  revealing  thus  its  little  hopes  and  fears,  they 
would  have  lost  their  chief  support  in  life.  God  and 
religion  would  have  suffered  a  damaging  eclipse. 
Big  scaffolding  in  their  lives  would  have  collapsed. 

Doubtless,  Tante  Jeanne  did  not  knowingly  push 
the  saucer,  neither  did  the  weighty  index  finger  of 
the  concentrated  cook  deliberately  exert  muscular 
pressure.  Nor,  similarly,  was  Zizi  aware  that  the 
weight  of  his  entire  hand  helped  to  urge  the  dirty 
saucer  across  the  slippery  surface  of  the  paper  in 
whatever  direction  his  elders  thus  indicated.  But 
one  and  all  knew  '  subconsciously  '  the  exact  situa- 
tion of  consonants  and  vowels — that  out  lay  in 
the  right-hand  corner  and  non  in  the  left.  And 
neither  Zizi  nor  his  mother  dared  hint  to  their  leader 
not  to  push,  because  she  herself  monopolised  that 
phrase,  saying  repeatedly  to  them  both,  '  mais  il  ne 
faut  -pas  pousser  !  Legerement  avec  les  doigts,  tou- 
jours  tres  legerement !  Sans  9a  il  n'y  a  pas  de 
valeur,  tu  comprends  ! '  Zizi  inserted  an  occasional 
electrical  question.     It  was  discreetly  ignored  always. 

They  asked  about  the  Bank  payments,  the  mort- 
gages,  the   future   of   their   much-loved   old   house, 


xx  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        275 

and  of  themselves  ;  and  the  answers,  so  vague  con- 
cerning any  detailed  things  to  come,  were  very 
positive  indeed  about  the  Bank.  They  were  to  go 
and  interview  the  Manager  three  days  from  now. 
They  had  already  meant  to  go,  only  the  date  was 
undecided  ;  the  corroboration  of  the  spirits  was 
required  to  confirm  it.  This  settled  it.  Three  days 
from  to-night ! 

c  Tu  vois  !  '  whispered  Tante  Jeanne,  glancing 
mysteriously  across  the  table  at  her  sister.  '  Three 
days  from  now !  That  explains  your  dream  about 
the  three  birds.  Aha,  tu  vois  !  '  She  leaned  back, 
supremely  satisfied.  And  the  sister  gravely  bowed 
her  head,  while  Zizi  looked  up  and  listened  intently, 
without  comprehension.  He  felt  a  little  alarm,  per- 
haps, to-night. 

For  this  night  there  was  indeed  something  new 
in  the  worn  old  ritual.  There  was  a  strange,  un- 
calculated  element  in  it  all,  unexpected,  and  fearfully 
thrilling  to  all  three.  Zizi  for  the  first  time  had  his 
doubts  about  its  being  merely  electricity. 

'  C'est  d'une  puissance  extraordinaire,'  was  the 
widow's  whispered,  eager  verdict. 

*  C'est  que  j'ai  enormement  de  fluide  ce  soir,' 
declared  Zizi,  with  pride  and  confidence,  yet  mysti- 
fied. The  other  two  exchanged  frequent  glances  of 
surprise,  of  wonder,  of  keen  expectancy  and  anticipa- 
tion. There  was  certainly  a  new  '  influence  '  at  work 
to-night.  They  even  felt  a  touch  of  faint  dread. 
The  widow,  her  ruling  passion  strong  even  before 
the  altar,  looked  down  anxiously  once  or  twice  at 
her  disreputable  attire.  It  was  vivid  as  that — this 
acute  sense  of  another  presence  that  pervaded  the 
room,  not  merely  hung  about  the  little  table.  She 
could  be  '  invisible '  to  the  Pension  by  the  magic  of 


276        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

old-established  habit,  but  she  could  not  be  so  to  the 
true  Invisibles.  And  they  saw  her  in  this  unbecom- 
ing costume.  She  forgot,  too,  the  need  of  keeping 
Zizi  in  the  dark.  He  must  know  some  day.  What 
did  it  matter  when  ? 

She  tidied  back  her  wandering  hair  with  her  free 
hand,  and  drew  the  faded  garment  more  closely 
round  her  neck. 

*  Are  you  cold  ? '  asked  her  sister  with  a  hush  in 
her  voice  ;  '  you  feel  the  cold  air — all  of  a  sudden  ?  * 

'  I  do,  mamanl  Tazi  answered.  '  It's  blowing 
like  a  wind  across  my  hand.  What  is  it  ? '  He 
was  shivering.  He  looked  over  his  shoulder 
nervously. 

There  was  a  heavy  step  in  the  hall,  and  a  figure 
darkened  the  doorway.     All  three  gave  a  start. 

'  J'ai  sommeil,'  announced  the  deep  voice  of  the 
Postmaster.  This  meant  that  the  boy  must  come 
to  bed.  It  was  the  sepulchral  tone  that  made  them 
jump  perhaps.  Zizi  got  up  without  a  murmur  ;  he 
was  glad  to  go,  really.  He  slept  in  the  room  with 
his  parents.  His  father,  an  overcoat  thrown  over 
his  night  things,  led  him  away  without  another 
word.  And  the  two  women  resumed  their  seance. 
The  saucer  moved  more  easily  and  swiftly  now  that 
Zizi  had  gone.  '  C'est  done  toi  qui  as  le  fluide,' 
each  said  to  the  other. 

But  in  the  excitement  caused  by  this  queer,  new 
element  in  the  proceedings,  the  familiar  old  routine 
was  forgotten.  Napoleon  and  Marie  Antoinette 
were  brushed  aside  to  make  room  for  this  important 
personage  who  suddenly  descended  upon  the  saucer 
from  an  unknown  star  with  the  statement — it  took 
half  an  hour  to  spell — 'Je  viens  d'une  etoile  tres 
eloignee  qui  n'a  pas  encore  de  nom.' 


xx  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        277 

'There  is  a  starry  light  in  the  room.  It  was 
above  your  head  just  now,'  whispered  the  widow, 
enormously  excited.  '  I  saw  it  plainly.'  She  was 
trembling. 

*  That  explains  the  clouds  in  my  dream,'  was  the 
tense  reply,  as  they  both  peered  round  them  into  the 
shadows  with  a  touch  of  awe.  '  Now,  give  all  your 
attention.     This  has  an  importance,  but,  you  know, 

an  importance '     She  could  not  get  the  degree 

of  importance  into  any  words.  She  looked  it  instead, 
leaving  the  sentence  eloquently  incomplete. 

For,  certainly,  into  the  quaint  ritual  of  these  two 
honest,  troubled  old  women  there  crept  then  a  hint 
of  something  that  was  uncommon  and  uplifting. 
That  it  came  through  themselves  is  as  sure  as  that  it 
spelt  out  detailed  phrases  of  encouragement  and 
guidance  with  regard  to  their  coming  visit  to  the 
Bank.  That  they  both  were  carried  away  by  it  into 
joy  and  the  happiness  of  sincere  relief  of  mind  is 
equally  a  fact.  That  their  receptive  mood  attuned 
them  to  overhear  subconsciously  messages  of  thought 
that  flashed  across  the  night  from  another  mind  in 
sympathy  with  their  troubles — a  mind  hard  at  work 
that  very  moment  in  the  carpenter's  house — was  not 
known  to  them  ;  nor  would  it  have  brought  the 
least  explanatory  comfort  even  if  they  had  been 
told  of  it.  They  picked  up  these  starry  telegrams 
of  unselfish  thinking  that  flamed  towards  them 
through  the  midnight  sky  from  an  eager  mind  else- 
where busily  making  plans  for  their  benefit.  And, 
reaching  them  subconsciously,  their  deep  subcon- 
sciousness urged  the  dirty  saucer  to  the  spelling  of 
them,  word  by  word  and  letter  by  letter.  The 
flavour  of  their  own  interpretation,  of  course,  crept 
in  to  mar,  and  sometimes  to  obliterate.     The  instru- 


278        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      CH.  xx 

ments  were  gravely  imperfect.  But  the  messages 
came  through.  And  with  them  came  the  great 
feeling  that  the  Christian  calls  answered  prayer. 
They  had  such  absolute  faith.     They  had  belief. 

'  Go  to  the  Bank.  Help  awaits  you  there.  And 
I  shall  go  with  you  to  direct  and  guide.'  This  was 
the  gist  of  that  message  from  cune  etoile  tres  eloignee.' 

They  copied  it  out  in  violet  ink  with  a  pen  that 
scratched  like  the  point  of  a  pin.  And  when  they 
stole  upstairs  to  bed,  long  after  midnight,  there  was 
great  joy  and  certainty  in  their  fighting  old  hearts. 
There  was  a  perfume  of  flowers,  of  lilacs  and  wistaria 
in  the  air,  as  if  the  whole  garden  had  slipped  in  by 
the  back  door  and  was  unable  to  find  its  way  out 
again.     They  dreamed  of  stars  and  starlight. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

La  vie  est  un  combat  qu'ils  ont  change  en  fete. 

Les  Elus,  E.  Verhaeren. 

The  excitement  a  few  days  later  spread  through 
the  village  like  a  flame.  People  came  out  of  their 
way  to  steal  a  glance  at  the  Pension  that  now,  for 
the  first  time  in  their  memory,  was  free  of  debt. 
Gygi,  tolling  the  bell  at  midi>  forgot  to  stop,  as  he 
peered  through  the  narrow  window  in  the  church 
tower  and  watched  the  Widow  Jequier  planting  and 
digging  recklessly  in  her  garden.  Several  came  run- 
ning down  the  street,  thinking  it  was  a  warning  of  fire. 
But  the  secret  was  well  kept ;  no  one  discovered 
who  had  worked  the  miracle.  Pride  sealed  the  lips 
of  the  beneficiaries  themselves,  while  the  inhabitants 
of  the  Citadelle,  who  alone  shared  the  knowledge, 
kept  the  facts  secret,  as  in  honour  bound.  Every  one 
wondered,  however,  for  every  one  knew  the  sum  ran 
into  several  thousand  francs ;  and  a  thousand  francs 
was  a  fortune  ;  the  rich  man  in  the  corner  house, 
who  owned  so  many  vineyards,  and  was  reputed  to 
enjoy  an  income  of  ten  thousand  francs  a  year,  was 
always  referred  to  as  '  le  millionnaire.'  And  so  the 
story  spread  that  Madame  Jequier  had  inherited  a 
fortune,  none  knew  whence.  The  tradespeople 
treated  her  thereafter  with  a  degree  of  respect  that 
sweetened  her  days  till  the  end  of  life. 

279 


28o        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND 


CHAP. 


She  had  come  back  from  the  Bank  in  a  fainting 
condition,  the  sudden  joy  too  much  for  her  alto- 
gether. A  remote  and  inaccessible  air  pervaded  her, 
for  all  the  red  of  her  inflamed  eyes  and  tears.  She 
was  aloof  from  the  world,  freed  at  last  from  the 
ceaseless,  gnawing  anxiety  that  for  years  had  eaten 
her  life  out.  The  spirits  had  justified  themselves, 
and  faith  and  worship  had  their  just  reward.  But 
this  was  only  the  first,  immediate  effect  :  it  left  her 
greater  than  it  found  her,  this  unexpected,  huge 
relief — brimming  with  new  sympathy  for  others. 
She  doubled  her  gifts.  She  planned  a  wonderful 
nQW  garden.  That  very  night  she  ordered  such  a 
quantity  of  bulbs  and  seedlings  that  to  this  day  they 
never  have  been  planted. 

Her  interview  with  Henry  Rogers,  when  she  called 
at  the  carpenter's  house  in  all  her  finery,  cannot  pro- 
perly be  told,  for  it  lay  beyond  his  powers  of  descrip- 
tion. Her  sister  accompanied  her  ;  the  Postmaster, 
too,  snatched  fifteen  minutes  from  his  duties  to  attend. 
The  ancient  tall  hat,  worn  only  at  funerals  as  a  rule, 
was  replaced  by  the  black  Trilby  that  had  been  his 
portion  from  the  Magic  Box,  as  he  followed  the 
excited  ladies  at  a  reasonable  distance.  '  You  had 
better  show  yourself,'  his  wife  suggested  ;  *  Monsieur 
Rogairs  would  like  to  see  you  with  us — to  know 
that  you  are  there.'  Which  meant  that  he  was 
not  to  interfere  with  the  actual  thanksgiving,  but 
to  countenance  the  occasion  with  his  solemn  presence. 
And,  indeed,  he  did  not  go  upstairs.  He  paced 
the  road  beneath  the  windows  during  the  interview, 
looking  exactly  like  a  professional  mourner  waiting 
for  the  arrival  of  the  hearse. 

'  My  dear  old  friend — friends,  I  mean,'  said  Rogers 
in  his  fluent  and  very  dreadful  French,  '  if  you  only 


xxi  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        281 

knew  what  a  pleasure  it  is  to  me — It  is  /  who  should 
thank  you  for  giving  me  the  opportunity,  not  you 
who  should  thank  me.'  The  sentence  broke  loose 
utterly,  wandering  among  intricacies  of  grammar  and 
subjunctive  moods  that  took  his  breath  away  as  he 
poured  it  out.  '  I  was  only  afraid  you  would  think 
it  unwarrantable  interference.  I  am  delighted  that 
you  let  me  do  it.     It's  such  a  little  thing  to  do.' 

Both  ladies  instantly  wept.  The  Widow  came 
closer  with  a  little  rush.  Whether  Rogers  was 
actually  embraced,  or  no,  it  is  not  stated  officially. 

'  It  is  a  loan,  of  course,  it  is  a  loan,' cried  the  Widow. 

*  It  is  a  present,'  he  said  firmly,  loathing  the  scene. 
'  It's  a  part  repayment  for  all  the  kindness  you  showed 
me  here  as  a  boy  years  and  years  ago.'  Then,  re- 
membering that  the  sister  was  not  known  to  him  in 
those  far-away  days,  he  added  clumsily,  '  and  since — I 
came  back.  .  .  .  And  now  let's  say  no  more,  but  just 
keep  the  little  secret  to  ourselves.  It  is  nobody's 
business  but  our  own.' 

'  A  present  ! '  gasped  both  ladies  to  one  another, 
utterly  overcome  ;  and  finding  nothing  else  to  em- 
brace, they  flung  their  arms  about  each  other's  necks 
and  praised  the  Lord  and  wept  more  copiously  than 
ever.  .  .  .  *  Grand  ciel '  was  heard  so  frequently,  and 
so  loudly,  that  Madame  Michaud,  the  carpenter's 
wife,  listening  on  the  stairs,  made  up  her  mind  it 
was  a  quarrel,  and  wondered  if  she  ought  to  knock 
at  the  door  and  interfere. 

'I  see  your  husband  in  the  road,'  said  Rogers, 
tapping  at  the  window.  '  I  think  he  seems  waiting 
for  you.  Or  perhaps  he  has  a  telegram  for  me,  do 
you  think? '  He  bowed  and  waved  his  hand,  smiling 
as  the  Postmaster  looked  up  in  answer  to  the  tapping 
and  gravely  raised  his  Trilby  hat. 


282        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

'  There  now,  he's  calling  for  you.     Do  not  keep 

him  waiting — I'm  sure '  he  didn't  know  what  to 

say  or  how  else  to  get  them  out.  He  opened  the 
door.  The  farewells  took  some  time,  though  they 
would  meet  an  hour  later  at  dejeuner  as  usual. 

'  At  least  you  shall  pay  us  no  more  pension?  was 
the  final  sentence  as  they  flounced  downstairs,  so 
happy  and  excited  that  they  nearly  tumbled  over 
each  other,  and  sharing  one  handkerchief  to  dry 
their  tears. 

'  Then  I  shall  buy  my  own  food  and  cook  it  here,' 
he  laughed,  and  somehow  managed  to  close  his  door 
upon  the  retreating  storm.  Out  of  the  window  he 
saw  the  procession  go  back,  the  sombre  figure  of  the 
Postmaster  twenty  yards  behind  the  other  two. 

And  then,  with  joy  in  his  heart,  though  a  sigh  of 
relief  upon  his  lips — there  may  have  been  traces  of  a 
lump  somewhere  in  his  throat  as  well,  but  if  so,  he 
did  not  acknowledge  it — he  turned  to  his  letters,  and 
found  among  them  a  communication  from  Herbert 
Montmorency  Minks,  announcing  that  he  had  found 
an  ideal  site,  and  that  it  cost  so  and  so  much  per  acre 
— also  that  the  County  Council  had  made  no  diffi- 
culties. There  was  a  hint,  moreover — a  general 
flavour  of  resentment  and  neglect  at  his  master's 
prolonged  absence — that  it  would  not  be  a  bad  thing 
for  the  great  Scheme  if  Mr.  Rogers  could  see  his  way 
to  return  to  London  '  before  very  long.' 

'  Bother  the  fellow  !'  thought  he  ;  *  what  a  nuisance 
he  is,  to  be  sure  ! ' 

And  he  answered  him  at  once.  '  Do  not  trouble 
about  a  site  just  yet,'  he  wrote  ;  *  there  is  no  hurry 
for  the  moment.'  He  made  a  rapid  calculation  in  his 
head.  He  had  paid  those  mortgages  out  of  capital, 
and  the  sum  represented  just  about  the  cost  of  the 


xxi         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        283 

site  Minks  mentioned.  But  results  were  immediate. 
There  was  no  loss,  no  waste  in  fees  and  permits  and 
taxes.     Each  penny  did  its  work. 

'  There's  the  site  gone,  anyhow,'  he  laughed  to 
himself.  '  The  foundation  will  go  next,  then  the  walls. 
But,  at  any  rate,  they  needed  it.  The  Commune 
Charity  would  have  had  'em  at  the  end  of  the  month. 
They're  my  neighbours  after  all.  And  I  must  find 
out  from  them  who  else  in  the  village  needs  a  leg  up. 
For  these  people  are  worth  helping,  and  I  can  see 
exactly  where  every  penny  goes.' 

Bit  by  bit,  as  it  would  seem,  the  great  Scheme  for 
Disabled  Thingumagigs  was  being  undermined. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

And  those  who  were  good  shall  be  happy 

They  shall  sit  in  a  golden  chair  ; 
They  shall  splash  at  a  ten-league  canvas 

With  brushes  of  comets'  hair. 
They  shall  have  real  saints  to  paint  from — 

Magdalene,  Peter,  and  Paul ; 
They  shall  work  for  an  age  at  a  sitting 

And  never  get  tired  at  all. 

And  only  the  Master  shall  praise  them, 

And  only  the  Master  shall  blame  ; 
And  no  one  shall  work  for  money, 

And  no  one  shall  work  for  fame  j 
But  each  for  the  joy  of  the  working, 

And  each  in  his  separate  star, 
Shall  draw  the  thing  as  he  sees  it 

For  the  God  of  things  as  they  are. 

R.  Kipling- 

And  meanwhile,  as  May  ran  laughing  to  meet  June, 
an  air  of  coloured  wonder  spread  itself  about  the 
entire  village.  Rogers  had  brought  it  with  him  from 
that  old  Kentish  garden  somehow.  His  journey  there 
had  opened  doors  into  a  region  of  imagination  and 
belief  whence  fairyland  poured  back  upon  his  inner 
world,  transfiguring  common  things.  And  this 
transfiguration  he  unwittingly  put  into  others  too. 
Through  this  very  ordinary  man  swept  powers  that 
usually  are  left  behind  with  childhood.  The  child- 
hood aspect  of  the  world  invaded  all  who  came 
in  contact  with  him,  enormous,  radiant,  sparkling, 
charged  with  questions  of  wonder  and  enchantment. 

284 


cH.xxir     A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       285 

And  every  one  felt  it  according  to  their  ability  of 
reconstruction.  Yet  he  himself  had  not  the  least 
idea  that  he  did  it  all.  It  was  a  reformation,  very 
tender,  soft,  and  true. 

For  wonder,  of  course,  is  the  basis  of  all  inquiry. 
Interpretation  varies,  facts  remain  the  same  ;  and  to 
interpret  is  to  recreate.  Wonder  leads  to  worship. 
It  insists  upon  recreation,  prerogative  of  all  young 
life.  The  Starlight  Express  ran  regularly  every  night, 
Jimbo  having  constructed  a  perfect  time-table  that 
answered  all  requirements,  and  was  sufficiently  elastic 
to  fit  instantly  any  scale  that  time  and  space  de- 
manded. Rogers  and  the  children  talked  of  little  else, 
and  their  adventures  in  the  daytime  seemed  curiously 
fed  by  details  of  information  gleaned  elsewhere. 

But  where  ?  The  details  welled  up  in  one  and 
all,  though  whence  they  came  remained  a  mystery. 
'  I  believe  we  dream  a  lot  of  it,'  said  Jimbo.  l  It's  a 
lot  of  dreams  we  have  at  night,  comme  fa.'  He  had 
made  a  complete  map  of  railway  lines,  with  stations 
everywhere,  in  forests,  sky,  and  mountains.  He 
carried  stations  in  his  pocket,  and  just  dropped  one 
out  of  the  carriage  window  whenever  a  passenger 
shouted,  'Let's  stop  here.'  But  Monkey,  more 
intellectual,  declared  it  was  '  all  Cousinenry's  inven- 
tion and  make-up,'  although  she  asked  more  questions 
than  all  the  others  put  together.  Jinny,  her  sister, 
stared  and  listened  with  her  puzzled,  moth -like 
expression,  while  Mother  watched  and  marvelled 
cautiously  from  a  distance.  In  one  and  all,  however, 
the  famished  sense  of  wonder  interpreted  life  anew. 
It  named  the  world  afresh — the  world  of  common 
things.  It  subdued  the  earth  unto  itself.  What  a 
mind  creates  it  understands.  Through  the  familiar 
these   adventurers  trace  lines  of  discovery  into   the 


286        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

unfamiliar.  They  understood.  They  were  up  to 
their  waists  in  wonder.  There  was  still  disorder,  of 
course,  in  their  great  reconstruction,  but  that  was 
where  the  exciting  fun  came  in  ;  for  disorder  involves 
surprise.  Any  moment  out  might  pop  the  unex- 
pected— event  or  person. 

Cousin  Henry  was  easily  leader  now.  While 
Daddy  remained  absorbed  with  his  marvellous  new 
story,  enthusiastic  and  invisible,  they  ran  about  the 
world  at  the  heels  of  this  '  busy  engineer,'  as  Jane 
Ann  entitled  him.  He  had  long  ago  told  them, 
with  infinite  and  exaccurate  detail,  of  his  journey  to 
the  garden  and  his  rediscovery  of  the  sprites,  for- 
gotten during  his  twenty  years  of  business  life.  And 
these  sprites  were  as  familiar  to  them  now  as  those  of 
their  own  childhood.  They  little  knew  that  at  night 
they  met  and  talked  with  them.  Daddy  had  put 
them  all  into  the  Wumble  Book,  achieving  mediocre 
success  with  the  rhymes,  but  amply  atoning  with  the 
illustrations.  The  Woman  of  the  Haystack  was 
evidently  a  monster  pure  and  simple,  till  Jinny 
announced  that  she  merely  had  '  elephantitis,'  and 
thus  explained  her  satisfactorily.  The  Lamplighter, 
with  shining  feet,  taking  enormous  strides  from 
Neuchatel  to  a  London  slum,  putting  fire  into  eyes 
and  hearts  en  route,  thrilled  them  by  his  radiant 
speed  and  ubiquitous  activity,  while  his  doggerel  left 
them  coldly  questioning.  For  the  rhymes  did  not 
commend  themselves  to  their  sense  of  what  was 
proper  in  the  use  of  words.  His  natural  history 
left  them  unconvinced,  though  the  anatomy  of  the 
drawing  fascinated  them. 

He  walked  upon  his  toes 
As  softly  as  a  saying  does, 
For  so  the  saying  goes. 


xxii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        287 

That  he  '  walked  upon  his  toes  '  was  all  right,  but 
that  he  '  walked  softly  as  a  saying '  meant  nothing, 
even  when  explained  that  '  thus  the  saying  goes.' 

'  Poor  old  Daddy,'  was  Jinny's  judgment  ;  '  he's 
got  to  write  something.  You  see,  he  is  an  author. 
Some  day  he'll  get  his  testimonial.' 

It  was  Cousin  Henry  who  led  them  with  a  surer, 
truer  touch.  He  always  had  an  adventure  up  his 
sleeve — something  their  imaginations  could  accept 
and  recreate.  Each  in  their  own  way,  they  supplied 
interpretations  as  they  were  able. 

Every  walk  they  took  together  furnished  the 
germ  of  an  adventure. 

'But  I'm  not  exciting  to-day,'   he  would  object 
thirsting   for  a  convincing  compliment  that  should 
persuade  him  to  take  them  out.     Only  the  compli- 
ment never  came  quite  as  he  hoped. 

'  Everybody's  exciting  somewhere,'  said  Monkey, 
leading  the  way  and  knowing  he  would  follow. 
'  We'll  go  to  the  Wind  Wood.' 

Jimbo  took  his  hand  then,  and  they  went. 
Corners  of  the  forest  had  names  now,  born  of  stories 
and  adventures  he  had  placed  there — the  Wind 
Wood,  the  Cuckoo  Wood,  where  Daddy  could  not 
sleep  because  '  the  beastly  cuckoo  made  such  a 
noise  '  ;  the  Wood  where  Mother  Fell,  and  so  on. 
No  walk  was  wholly  unproductive. 

And  so,  one  evening  after  supper,  they  escaped 
by  the  garden,  crossed  the  field  where  the  standing 
hay  came  to  their  waists,  and  climbed  by  forest  paths 
towards  the  Wind  Wood.  It  was  a  spot  where 
giant  pines  stood  thinly,  allowing  a  view  across  the 
lake  towards  the  Alps.  The  moss  was  thick  and 
deep.  Great  boulders,  covered  with  lichen,  lay 
about,  and  there  were  fallen  trees  to  rest  the  back 


288        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND 


CHAP. 


against.  Here  he  had  told  them  once  his  vision  of 
seeing  the  wind,  and  the  name  had  stuck  ;  for  the 
story  had  been  very  vivid,  and  every  time  they  felt 
the  wind  or  heard  it  stirring  in  the  tree-tops,  they 
expected  to  see  it  too.  There  were  blue  winds, 
black  winds,  and  winds — violent  these — of  purple 
and  flaming  scarlet. 

They  lay  down,  and  Cousinenry  made  a  fire. 
The  smoke  went  up  in  thin  straight  lines  of  blue, 
melting  into  the  sky.  The  sun  had  set  half  an  hour 
before,  and  the  flush  of  gold  and  pink  was  fading 
into  twilight.  The  glamour  of  Bourcelles  dropped 
down  upon  all  three.  They  ought  to  have  been  in 
bed — hence  the  particular  enjoyment. 

*  Are  you  getting  excited  now  ? '  asked  Monkey, 
nestling  in  against  him. 

'  Hush  ! '  he  said,  '  can't  you  hear  it  coming  ? ' 

1  The  excitement  ? '  she  inquired  under  her  breath. 

'  No,  the  Night.    Keep  soft  and  silent — if  you  can.' 

'  Tell  us,  please,  at  once,'  both  children  begged 
him  instantly,  for  the  beauty  of  the  place  and  hour 
demanded  explanation,  and  explanation,  of  course, 
must  be  in  story  or  adventure  form.  The  fire 
crackled  faintly  ;  the  smell  crept  out  like  incense  ; 
the  lines  of  smoke  coiled  upwards,  and  seemed  to 
draw  the  tree-stems  with  them.  Indeed  they  formed 
a  pattern  together,  big  thick  trunks  marking  the 
uprights  at  the  corners,  and  wavy  smoke  lines  weav- 
ing a  delicate  structure  in  between  them.  It  was  a 
kind  of  growing,  moving  scaffolding.  Saying  nothing, 
Cousin  Henry  pointed  to  it  with  his  finger.  He 
traced  its  general  pattern  for  them  in  the  air. 

'  That's  the  Scaffolding  of  the  Night  beginning,'  he 
whispered  presently,  feeling  adventure  press  upon  him. 

'  Oh,  I  say,'  said  Jimbo,  sitting  up,  and  pretend- 


xxn         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        289 

ing  as  usual  more  comprehension  than  he  actually 
possessed.  But  his  sister  instantly  asked,  '  What  is 
it  —  the  Scaffolding  of  the  Night  ?  A  sort  of 
cathedral,  you  mean  ?  ' 

How  she  divined  his  thought,  and  snatched  it 
from  his  mind  always,  this  nimble-witted  child  !  His 
germ  developed  with  a  bound  at  once. 

'  More  a  palace  than  a  cathedral,'  he  whispered. 
4  Night  is  a  palace,  and  has  to  be  built  afresh  each 
time.  Twilight  rears  the  scaffolding  first,  then 
hangs  the  Night  upon  it.  Otherwise  the  darkness 
would  simply  fall  in  lumps,  and  lie  about  in  pools 
and  blocks,  unfinished — a  ruin  instead  of  a  buildinp-. 
Everything  must  have  a  scaffolding  first.  Look 
how  beautifully  it's  coming  now,'  he  added,  pointing, 
'  each  shadow  in  its  place,  and  all  the  lines  of  grey 
and  black  fitting  exaccurately  together  like  a  skeleton. 
Have  you  never  noticed  it  before  ? ' 

Jimbo,  of  course,  had  noticed  it,  his  manner  gave 
them  to  understand,  but  had  not  thought  it  worth 
while  mentioning  until  his  leader  drew  attention 
to  it. 

'  Just  as  trains  must  have  rails  to  run  on,'  he 
explained  across  Cousinenry's  intervening  body  to 
Monkey,  '  or  else  there'd  be  accidents  and  things  all 
the  time.' 

*  And  night  would  be  a  horrid  darkness  like  a 
plague  in  Egypt,'  she  supposed,  adroitly  defending 
herself  and  helping  her  cousin  at  the  same  time. 
'  Wouldn't  it  ? '  she  added,  as  the  shadows  drew 
magically  nearer  from  the  forest  and  made  the  fire 
gradually  grow  brighter.  The  children  snuggled 
closer  to  their  cousin's  comforting  bulk,  shivering  a 
little.  The  woods  went  whispering  together.  Night 
shook  her  velvet  skirts  out. 

u 


290        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

'  Yes,  everything  has  its  pattern,'  he  answered, 
'  from  the  skeleton  of  a  child  or  a  universe  to  the 
outline  of  a  thought.  Even  a  dream  must  have  its 
scaffolding,'  he  added,  feeling  their  shudder  and 
leading  it  towards  fun  and  beauty.  '  Insects,  birds, 
and  animals  all  make  little  scaffoldings  with  their 
wee  emotions,  especially  kittens  and  butterflies. 
Engine-drivers  too,'  for  he  felt  Jimbo's  hand  steal 
into  his  own  and  go  to  sleep  there,  '  but  particularly 
little  beasties  that  live  in  holes  under  stones  and  in 
fields. 

When  a  little  mouse  in  wonder 
Flicks  its  whiskers  at  the  thunder, 

it  makes  a  tiny  scaffolding  behind  which  it  hides  in 
safety,  shuddering.  Same  with  Daddy's  stories. 
Thinking  and  feeling  does  the  trick.  Then  imagina- 
tion comes  and  builds  it  up  solidly  with  bricks  and 
wall-papers.   .   .   .' 

He  told  them  a  great  deal  more,  but  it  cannot  be 
certain  that  they  heard  it  all,  for  there  were  other 
Excitements  about  besides  their  cousin — the  fire,  the 
time,  the  place,  and  above  all,  this  marvellous  coming 
of  the  darkness.  They  caught  words  here  and 
there,  but  Thought  went  its  own  independent  way 
with  each  little  eager  mind.  He  had  started  the 
machinery  going,  that  was  all.  Interpretation  varied  ; 
facts  remained  the  same.  And  meanwhile  twilight 
brought  the  Scaffolding  of  Night  before  their  eyes. 

1  You  can  see  the  lines  already,'  he  murmured 
sleepily,  '  like  veins  against  the  sunset.   .   .   .   Look  ! ' 

All  saw  the  shadowy  slim  rafters  slip  across  the 
paling  sky,  mapping  its  emptiness  with  intricate 
design.  Like  an  enormous  spider's  web  of  fine  dark 
silk  it  bulged  before  the  wind.  The  trellis-work, 
slung  from  the  sky,  hung  loose.     It  moved  slowly, 


xxii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        291 

steadily,  from  east  to  west,  trailing  grey  sheets  of 
dusk  that  hung  from  every  filament.  The  maze  of 
lines  bewildered  sight.  In  all  directions  shot  the 
threads  of  coming  darkness,  spun  from  the  huge 
body  of  Night  that  still  hid  invisible  below  the 
horizon. 

*  They're  fastening  on  to  everything  .  .  .  look  ! ' 
whispered  Cousin  Henry,  kicking  up  a  shower  of 
sparks  with  his  foot.  '  The  Pattern's  being  made 
before  your  eyes  !     Don't  you  see  the  guy  ropes  ? ' 

And  they  saw  it  actually  happen.  From  the 
summits  of  the  distant  Alps  ran  filmy  lines  of  ebony 
that  knotted  themselves  on  to  the  crests  of  the  pines 
beside  them.  There  were  so  many  no  eye  could 
follow  them.  They  flew  and  darted  everywhere, 
dropping  like  needles  from  the  sky  itself,  sewing  the 
tent  of  darkness  on  to  the  main  supports,  and 
threading  the  starlight  as  they  came.  Night  slowly 
brought  her  beauty  and  her  mystery  upon  the  world. 
The  filmy  pattern  opened.  There  was  a  tautness 
in  the  lines  that  made  one  feel  they  would  twang 
with  delicate  music  if  the  wind  swept  its  hand  more 
rapidly  across  them.  And  now  and  again  all 
vibrated,  each  line  making  an  ellipse  between  its 
fastened  ends,  then  gradually  settling  back  to  its 
thin,  almost  invisible  bed.  Cables  of  thick,  elastic 
darkness  steadied  them. 

How  much  of  it  all  the  children  realised  them- 
selves, or  how  much  flashed  into  them  from  their 
cousin's  mind,  is  of  course  a  thing  not  even  a  bat 
can  tell. 

'  Is  that  why  bats  fly  in  such  a  muddle  ?  Like  a 
puzzle  ?  ' 

'  Of  course,'  he  said.  The  bats  were  at  last 
explained. 


292        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

They  built  their  little  pictures  for  themselves. 
No  living  being  can  lie  on  the  edge  of  a  big  pine 
forest  when  twilight  brings  the  darkness  without  the 
feeling  that  everything  becomes  too  wonderful  for 
words.  The  children  as  ever  fed  his  fantasy,  while 
he  thought  he  did  it  all  himself.  Dusk  wore  a 
shroud  to  entangle  the  too  eager  stars,  and  make 
them  stay. 

*  I  never  noticed  it  before,'  murmured  Monkey 
against  his  coat  sleeve.  '  Does  it  happen  every  night 
like  this  ? ' 

'  You  only  see  it  if  you  look  very  closely,'  was 
the  low  reply.  '  You  must  think  hard,  very  hard. 
The  more  you  think,  the  more  you'll  see.' 

'  But  really,'  asked  Jimbo,  '  it's  only — crepuscule, 
comme  fa,  isn't  it  ? '  And  his  fingers  tightened  on 
his  leader's  hand. 

'  Dusk,  yes,'  answered  Cousin  Henry  softly,  '  only 
dusk.  But  people  everywhere  are  watching  it  like 
ourselves,  and  thinking  feather  thoughts.  You  can 
see  the  froth  of  stars  flung  up  over  the  crest  of 
Night.  People  are  watching  it  from  windows  and 
fields  and  country  roads  everywhere,  wondering 
what  makes  it  so  beautiful.  It  brings  yearnings  and 
long,  long  desires.  Only  a  few  like  ourselves  can 
see  the  lines  of  scaffolding,  but  everybody  who 
thinks  about  it,  and  loves  it,  makes  it  more  real  for 
others  to  see,  too.  Daddy's  probably  watching  it  too 
from  his  window.' 

'  I  wonder  if  Jinny  ever  sees  it,'  Monkey  asked 
herself. 

But  Jimbo  knew.  '  She's  in  it,'  he  decided. 
'  She's  always  in  places  like  that ;  that's  where  she 
lives.' 

The  children  went  on  talking  to  each  other  under 


scxii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        293 

their  breath,  and  while  they  did  so  Cousin  Henry 
entered  their  little  wondering  minds.  Or,  perhaps, 
they  entered  his.  It  is  difficult  to  say.  Not  even 
an  owl,  who  is  awfully  wise  about  everything  to  do 
with  night  and  darkness,  could  have  told  for  certain. 
But,  anyhow,  they  all  three  saw  more  or  less  the 
same  thing.  The  way  they  talked  about  it  after- 
wards proves  that.  Their  minds  apparently  merged, 
or  else  there  was  one  big  mirror  and  two  minor  side- 
reflections  of  it.  It  was  their  cousin's  interpretation, 
at  any  rate,  that  they  remembered  later.  They 
brought  the  material  for  his  fashioning. 

'  Look  ! '  cried  Monkey,  sitting  up,  '  there  are 
millions  and  millions  now — lines  everywhere — pillars 
and  squares  and  towers.  It's  like  a  city.  I  can  see 
lamps  in  every  street ' 

'  That's  stars,'  interrupted  Jimbo.  The  stars 
indeed  were  peeping  here  and  there  already.  '  I 
feel  up  there,'  he  added,  '  my  inside,  I  mean — up 
among  the  stars  and  lines  and  sky-things.' 

'  That's  the  mind  wandering,'  explained  the  eldest 
child  of  the  three.  '  Always  follow  a  wandering 
mind.  It's  quite  safe.  Mine's  going  presently  too. 
We'll  all  go  off  together.' 

Several  little  winds,  released  by  darkness,  passed 
them  just  then  on  their  way  out  of  the  forest. 
They  gathered  half  a  dozen  sparks  from  the  fire  to 
light  them  on  their  way,  and  brought  cool  odours 
with  them  from  the  deepest  recesses  of  the  trees — 
perfumes  no  sunlight  ever  finds.  And  just  behind 
them  came  a  big  white  moth,  booming  and  whirring 
softly.  It  darted  to  and  fro  to  find  the  trail,  then 
vanished,  so  swiftly  that  no  one  saw  it  go. 

'  He's  pushing  it  along,'  said  Jimbo. 

'  Or  fastening  the  lines,'  his  sister  thought,  '  you 


294        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

see  he  hovers  in  one  place,  then  darts  over  to 
another.' 

'  That's  fastening  the  knots,'  added  Jimbo. 

*  No  ;  he's  either  an  Inspector  or  a  Pathfinder,' 
whispered  Cousin  Henry,  '  I  don't  know  exactly 
which.  They  show  the  way  the  scaffolding  goes. 
Moths,  bats,  and  owls  divide  the  work  between 
them  somehow.'  He  sat  up  suddenly  to  listen,  and 
the  children  sat  up  with  him.  '  Hark  ! '  he  added, 
'  do  you  hear  that  ?  ' 

Sighings  and  flutterings  rose  everywhere  about 
them,  and  overhead  the  fluffy  spires  of  the  tree-tops 
all  bent  one  way  as  the  winds  went  foraging  across 
the  night.  Majestically  the  scaffolding  reared  up 
and  towered  through  the  air,  while  sheets  of  dark- 
ness hung  from  every  line,  and  trailed  across  the 
earth  like  gigantic  sails  from  some  invisible  vessel. 
Loose  and  enormous  they  gradually  unfolded,  then 
suddenly  swung  free  and  dropped  with  a  silent  dip 
and  rush.  Night  swooped  down  upon  the  leagues 
of  Jura  forest.  She  spread  her  tent  across  the  entire 
range. 

The  threads  were  fastened  everywhere  now,  and 
the  uprights  all  in  place.  Mofhs  were  busy  in  all 
directions,  showing  the  way,  while  bats  by  the  dozen 
darted  like  black  lightning  from  corner  to  corner, 
making  sure  that  every  spar  and  beam  was  fixed 
and  steady.  So  exquisitely  woven  was  the  structure 
that  it  moved  past  them  overhead  without  the  faintest 
sound,  yet  so  frail  and  so  elastic  that  the  whirring 
of  the  moths  sent  ripples  of  quivering  movement 
through  the  entire  framework. 

'Hush!'  murmured  Rogers,  'we're  properly  in- 
side it  now.  Don't  think  of  anything  in  particular. 
Just  follow  your  wandering   minds  and  wait '     The 


xxii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        295 

children  lay  very  close  against  him.  He  felt  their 
warmth  and  the  breathing  of  their  little  bosoms. 
All  three  moved  sympathetically  within  the  rhythm 
of  the  dusk.  The  '  inside  '  of  each  went  floating  up 
into  the  darkening  sky. 

The  general  plan  of  the  scaffolding  they  clearly 
made  out  as  they  passed  among  its  myriad,  mile-long 
rafters,  but  the  completed  temple,  of  course,  they 
never  saw.  Black  darkness  hides  that  ever.  Night's 
secret  mystery  lies  veiled  finally  in  its  innermost 
chamber,  whence  it  steals  forth  to  enchant  the  mind 
of  men  with  its  strange  bewilderment.  But  the  Twi- 
light Scaffolding  they  saw  clearly  enough  to  make  a 
map  of  it.  For  Daddy  afterwards  drew  it  from  their 
description,  and  gave  it  an  entire  page  in  the  Wumble 
Book,  Monkey  ladling  on  the  colour  with  her  camel's- 
hair  brush  as  well  as  she  could  remember. 

It  was  a  page  to  take  the  breath  away,  the  big 
conception  blundering  clumsily  behind  the  crude  re- 
construction. Great  winds  formed  the  base,  winds 
of  brown  and  blue  and  purple,  piled  mountainously 
upon  each  other  in  motionless  coils,  and  so  soft  that 
the  upright  columns  of  the  structure  plunged  easily 
and  deeply  into  them.  Thus  the  framework  could 
bend  and  curve  and  sway,  moving  with  steady  glide 
across  the  landscape,  yet  never  collapsing  nor  losing 
its  exquisite  proportions.  The  forests  shored  it  up, 
its  stays  and  bastions  were  the  Jura  precipices  ;  it 
rested  on  the  shoulders  of  the  hills.  From  vineyard, 
field,  and  lake  vast  droves  of  thick  grey  shadows 
trooped  in  to  curtain  the  lower  halls  of  the  colossal 
edifice,  as  chamber  after  chamber  disappeared  from 
view  and  Night  clothed  the  structure  from  the 
ground-floors  upwards.  And  far  overhead  a  million 
tiny  scarves,  half  sunset   and  half  dusk,  wove  into 


296        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

little  ropes  that  lashed  the  topmost  spars  together, 
dovetailing  them  neatly,  and  fastening  them  at  last 
with  whole  clusters  of  bright  thin  stars. 

'  Ohhhhh  !  '  breathed  Jimbo  with  a  delicious  shud- 
der of  giddiness.  '  Let's  climb  to  the  very  tip  and 
see  all  the  trains  and  railwav  stations  in  the  world  ! ' 

'  Wait  till  the  moon  comes  up  and  puts  the  silver 
rivets  in,'  the  leader  whispered.  '  It'll  be  safer  then. 
My  weight,  you  know ' 

'  There  she  is  ! '  interrupted  Monkey  with  a  start, 
'  and  there's  no  such  thing  as  weight ' 

For  the  moon  that  instant  came  up,  it  seemed 
with  a  rush,  and  the  line  of  distant  Alps  moved  for- 
ward, blocked  vividly  against  the  silvery  curtain  that 
she  brought.  Her  sight  ran  instantly  about  the 
world.  Between  the  trees  shot  balls  of  yellowish 
white,  unfolding  like  ribbon  as  they  rolled.  They 
splashed  the  rocks  and  put  shining  pools  in  the 
hollows  among  the  moss.  Spangles  shone  on 
Monkey's  hair  and  eyes  ;  skins  and  faces  all  turned 
faintly  radiant.  The  lake,  like  a  huge  reflector, 
flashed  its  light  up  into  the  heavens.  The  moon 
laid  a  coating  of  her  ancient  and  transfiguring  paint 
upon  the  enormous  structure,  festooning  the  entire 
sky.     *  She's  put  the  silver  rivets  in,'  said  Jimbo. 

4  Now  we  can  go,'  whispered  Rogers,  '  only,  re- 
member, it's  a  giddy  business,  rather.' 

All  three  went  fluttering  after  it,  floating,  rising, 
falling,  like  fish  that  explore  a  sunken  vessel  in  their 
own  transparent  medium.  The  elastic  structure  bore 
them  easily  as  it  swung  along.  Its  enormous  rhythm 
lulled  their  senses  with  a  deep  and  drowsy  peace,  and 
as  they  climbed  from  storey  to  storey  it  is  doubtful  if 
the  children  caught  their  leader's  words  at  all.  There 
were  no  echoes — the  spaces  were  too  vast  for  that — 


xxii         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       297 

and  they  swung  away  from  spar  to  spar,  and  from 
rafter  to  rafter,  as  easily  as  acrobats  on  huge  trapezes. 
Jimbo  and  Monkey  shot  upwards  into  space. 

'  I  shall  explore  the  lower  storeys  first,'  he  called 
after  them,  his  words  fluttering  in  feathers  of  sound 
far  up  the  vault.  '  Keep  the  fire  in  sight  to  guide 
you  home  again  .  .  .'  and  he  moved  slowly  to- 
wards the  vast  ground-floor  chambers  of  the  Night. 
Each  went  his  independent  way  along  the  paths  of 
reverie  and  dream.     He  found  himself  alone. 

For  he  could  not  soar  and  float  as  they  did  ; 
he  kept  closer  to  the  earth,  wandering  through  the 
under  chambers  of  the  travelling  building  that  swung 
its  way  over  vineyards,  woods,  and  village  roofs. 
He  kept  more  in  touch  with  earth  than  they  did. 
The  upper  sections  where  the  children  climbed  went 
faster  than  those  lower  halls  and  galleries,  so  that  the 
entire  framework  bent  over,  breaking  ever  into  a 
crest  of  foaming  stars.  But  in  these  under  halls 
where  he  stood  and  watched  there  was  far  less  move- 
ment. From  century  to  century  these  remained  the 
same.  Between  the  bases  of  the  mighty  columns  he 
watched  the  wave  of  darkness  drown  the  world,  lead- 
ing it  with  a  rush  of  silence  towards  sleep.  For  the 
children  Night  meant  play  and  mischief ;  for  himself 
it  meant  graver  reverie.   .   .   . 

These  were  the  chambers,  clearly,  of  ancestral 
sleep  and  dream  :  they  seemed  so  familiar  and  well 
known.  Behind  him  blinked  the  little  friendly  fire 
in  the  forest,  link  with  the  outer  world  he  must  not 
lose.  He  would  find  the  children  there  when  he 
went  back,  lively  from  their  scamper  among  the 
stars  ;  and,  meanwhile,  he  was  quite  content  to 
wander  down  these  corridors  in  the  floor  of  Night 
and  taste  their  deep  repose.     For  years  he  had  not 


298        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

visited  or  known  them.  The  children  had  led  him 
back,  although  he  did  not  realise  it.  He  believed, 
on  the  contrary,  that  it  was  he  who  led  and  they 
who  followed.  For  true  leadership  is  ever  inspired, 
making  each  follower  feel  that  he  goes  first  and  of 
his  own  free  will.  .  .  . 

'  Jimbo,  you  flickery  sprite,  where  are  you  now  ? ' 
he  called,  suddenly  noticing  how  faint  the  little  fire 
had  grown  with  distance. 

A  lonely  wind  flew  down  upon  him  with  a  tiny 
shout : 

'  Up  here,  at  the  very  top,  with  Daddy.  He's 
making  notes  in  a  tower-room  all  by  himself ! ' 

Rogers  could  not  believe  his  ears.     Daddy  indeed  ! 

*  Is  Monkey  with  you  ?     And  is  she  safe  ? ' 

'  She's  helping  Daddy  balance.  The  walls  aren't 
finished,  and  he's  on  a  fearful  ledge.  He's  after 
something  or  other  for  his  story,  he  says.' 

It  seemed  impossible.  Daddy  skylarking  on  the 
roof  of  Night,  and  making  notes !  Yet  with  a 
moment's  reflection  the  impossibility  vanished  ;  sur- 
prise went  after  it  ;  it  became  natural,  right,  and 
true.  Daddy,  of  course,  sitting  by  his  window  in 
the  carpenter's  house,  had  seen  the  Twilight  Scaffold- 
ing sweep  past  and  had  climbed  into  it.  Its  beauty 
had  rapt  him  out  and  away.  In  the  darkness  his 
mind  wandered,  too,  gathering  notes  subconsciously 
for  his  wonderful  new  story. 

'  Come  down  here  to  me,'  he  cried,  as  a  man  cries 
in  his  sleep,  making  no  audible  sound.  '  There's  less 
risk  among  the  foundations.'  And  down  came 
Daddy  with  an  immediate  rush.  He  arrived  in  a 
bundle,  then  straightened  up.  The  two  men  stood 
side  by  side  in  these  subterraneans  of  the  night. 

*  You  !  '    whispered    Rogers,   trying    to    seize    his 


xxii         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        299 

hand,  while  the  other  evaded  him,  hiding  behind  a 
shadow. 

'  Don't  touch  me,'  he  murmured  breathlessly. 
'  You'll  scatter  my  train  of  thought.  Think  of 
something  else  at  once,  please.  .  .  .'  He  moved  into 
thicker  shadows,  half  disappearing.  '  I'm  after  some- 
thing that  suddenly  occurred  to  me  for  my  story.' 

'  What  is  it  ?  I'll  think  it  with  you,'  his  cousin 
called  after  him.  *  You'll  see  it  better  if  I  do.  Tell 
me.' 

'  A  train  that  carries  Thought,  as  this  darkness 
carries  stars — a  starlight  express,'  was  the  quick 
reply,  '  and  a  cavern  where  lost  starlight  gathers  till 
it's  wanted — sort  of  terminus  of  the  railway.  They 
belong  to  the  story  somewhere  if  only  I  can  find 
them  and  fit  them  in.  Starlight  binds  all  together  as 
thought  and  sympathy  bind  minds.  .  .   .' 

Rogers  thought  hard  about  them.  Instantly  his 
cousin  vanished. 

'Thank  you,'  ran  a  faint  whisper  among  the 
pillars  ;  '  I'm  on  their  trail  again  now.  I  must  go 
up  again.  I  can  see  better  from  the  top,'  and  the 
voice  grew  fainter  and  higher  and  further  off  with 
each  word  till  it  died  away  completely  into  silence. 
Daddy  went  chasing  his  inspiration  through  the 
scaffolding  of  reverie  and  dream. 

'  We  did  something  for  him  the  other  night  after 
all,  then,'  thought  Rogers  with  delight. 

'  Of  course,'  dropped  down  a  wee,  faint  answer 
from  above,  as  the  author  heard  him  thinking  ;  '  you 
did  a  lot.  I'm  partly  out  at  last.  This  is  where  all 
the  Patterns  hide.  Awake,  I  only  get  their  dim 
reflections,  broken  and  distorted.  This  is  reality,  not 
that.  Ha,  ha  !  If  only  I  can  get  it  through,  my 
lovely,  beautiful  pattern ' 


300       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       cha*. 

1  You  will,  you  will,'  cried  the  other,  as  the  voice 
went  fluttering  through  space.  '  Ask  the  children, 
jimbo  and  Monkey  are  up  there  somewhere.  They're 
the  safest  guides.' 

Rogers  gave  a  gulp  and  found  that  he  was  cough- 
ing. His  feet  were  cold.  A  shudder  ran  across  the 
feathery  structure,  making  it  tremble  from  the 
foundations  to  the  forest  of  spires  overhead.  Jimbo 
came  sliding  down  a  pole  of  gleaming  ebony.  In  a 
hammock  of  beams  and  rafters,  swinging  like  a  net- 
work of  trapezes,  Monkey  swooped  down  after  him, 
head  first  as  usual.  For  the  moon  that  moment 
passed  behind  a  cloud,  and  the  silver  rivets  started 
from  their  shadowy  sockets.  Clusters  of  star  nails 
followed  suit.  The  palace  bent  and  tottered  like  a 
falling  wave.  Its  pillars  turned  into  trunks  of  pine 
trees  ;  its  corridors  were  spaces  through  the  clouds  ; 
its  chambers  were  great  dips  between  the  mountain 
summits. 

'  It's  going  too  fast  for  sight,'  thought  Rogers  ; 
1 1  can't  keep  up  with  it.  Even  the  children  have 
toppled  off.'  But  he  still  heard  Daddy's  laughter 
echoing:  down  the  lanes  of  darkness  as  he  chased  his 
pattern  with  yearning  and  enthusiasm. 

The  huge  structure  with  its  towers  and  walls  and 
platforms  slid  softly  out  of  sight.  The  moonlight 
sponged  its  outlines  from  the  sky.  The  scaffolding 
melted  into  darkness,  moving  further  westwards  as 
night  advanced.  Already  it  was  over  France  and 
Italy,  sweeping  grandly  across  the  sea,  bewildering 
the  vessels  in  its  net  of  glamour,  and  filling  with 
wonder  the  eyes  of  the  look-out  men  at  the  mast 
heads. 

'  The  fire's  going  out,'  a  voice  was  saying.  Rogers 
heard  it  through  a  moment's  wild   confusion  as  he 


xxii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       301 

fell   swiftly  among   a   forest  of  rafters,   beams,  and 
shifting  uprights. 

1  I'll  get  more  wood.' 

The  words  seemed  underground.  A  mountain 
wind  rose  up  and  brought  the  solid  world  about  him. 
He  felt  chilly,  shivered,  and  opened  his  eyes.  There 
stood  the  solemn  pine  trees,  thick  and  close ;  moon- 
light flooded  the  spaces  between  them  and  lit  their 
crests  with  silver. 

'  This  is  the  Wind  Wood,'  he  remarked  aloud  to 
reassure  himself. 

Jimbo  was  bending  over  the  fire,  heaping  on 
wood.  Flame  leaped  up  with  a  shower  of  sparks. 
He  saw  Monkey  rubbing  her  eyes  beside  him. 

*  I've  had  a  dream  of  falling,'  she  was  saying,  as 
she  snuggled  down  closer  into  his  side. 

1  /  didn't,'  Jimbo  said.  *  I  dreamed  of  a  railway 
accident,  and  everybody  was  killed  except  one  pas- 
senger, who  was  Daddy.  It  fell  off  a  high  bridge. 
We  found  Daddy  in  the  fourgon  with  the  baggages, 
writing  a  story  and  laughing — making  an  awful 
row.' 

'What  did  you  dream,  Cousinenry  ? '  asked 
Monkey,  peering  into  his  eyes  in  the  firelight. 

'  That  my  feet  were  cold,  because  the  fire  had 
gone  out,'  he  answered,  trying  in  vain  to  remember 
whether  he  had  dreamed  anything  at  all.  '  And 
— that  it's  time  to  go  home.  I  hear  the  curfew 
ringing.' 

Some  one  whistled  softly.  They  ought  to  have 
been  in  bed  an  hour  ago. 

It  was  ten  o'clock,  and  Gygi  was  sounding  the 
couvre  feu  from  the  old  church  tower.  They  put  the 
fire  out  and  walked  home  arm  in  arm,  separating 
with  hushed   good-nights  in  the    courtyard    of  the 


302        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND   ch.  xxn 

Citadelle.  But  Rogers  did  not  hear  the  scolding 
Mother  gave  them  when  they  appeared  at  the  Den 
door,  for  he  went  on  at  once  to  his  own  room  in  the 
carpenter's  house,  with  the  feeling  that  he  had  lived 
always  in  Bourcelles,  and  would  never  leave  it  again. 
His  Scheme  had  moved  bodily  from  London  to  the 
forest. 

And  on  the  way  upstairs  he  peeped  a  moment  into 
his  cousin's  room,  seeing  a  light  beneath  the  door. 
The  author  was  sitting  beside  the  open  window 
with  the  lamp  behind  him  and  a  note-book  on  his 
knees.  Moonlight  fell  upon  his  face.  He  was  sound 
asleep. 

i  I  won't  wake  him,'  thought  his  cousin,  going  out 
softly  again.  '  He's  dreaming — dreaming  of  his 
wonderful  new  story  probably,' 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

Even  as  a  luminous  haze  links  star  to  star, 
I  would  supply  all  chasms  with  music,  breathing 
Mysterious  motions  of  the  soul,  no  way 
To  be  defined  save  in  strange  melodies. 

Paracelsus,  R.  Browning. 

Daddy's  story,  meanwhile,  continued  to  develop 
itself  with  wonder  and  enthusiasm.  It  was  unlike 
anything  he  had  ever  written.  His  other  studies 
had  the  brilliance  of  dead  precious  stones,  perhaps, 
but  this  thing  moved  along  with  a  rushing  life  of  its 
own.  It  grew,  fed  by  sources  he  was  not  aware  of. 
It  developed  of  itself — changed  and  lived  and  flashed. 
Some  creative  fairy  hand  had  touched  him  while  he 
slept  perhaps.  The  starry  sympathy  poured  through 
him,  and  he  thought  with  his  feelings  as  well  as  with 
his  mind. 

At  first  he  was  half  ashamed  of  it  ;  the  process 
was  so  new  and  strange ;  he  even  attempted  to 
conceal  his  method,  because  he  could  not  explain  or 
understand  it.  '  This  is  emotional,  not  intellectual,' 
he  sighed  to  himself ;  '  it  must  be  second  childhood. 
I'm  old.  They'll  call  it  decadent  !  '  Presently, 
however,  he  resigned  himself  to  the  delicious  flow  of 
inspiration,  and  let  it  pour  out  till  it  flowed  over 
into  his  daily  life  as  well.  Through  his  heart  it 
welled  up  and  bubbled  forth,  a  thing  of  children, 
starlight,  woods,  and  fairies. 

303 


304        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

Yet  he  was  shy  about  it.  He  would  talk  about 
the  story,  but  would  not  read  it  out.  '  It's  a  new 
genre  for  me,'  he  explained  shyly,  '  an  attempt 
merely.  We'll  see  what  comes  of  it.  My  original 
idea,  you  see,  has  grown  out  of  hand  rather.  I  wake 
eyery  morning  with  something  fresh,  as  though  ' — 
he  hesitated  a  moment,  glancing  towards  his  wife — '  as 
if  it  came  to  me  in  sleep,'  he  concluded.  He  felt 
her  common  sense  might  rather  despise  him  for  it. 

'  Perhaps  it  does,'  said  Rogers. 

'  Why  not  ? '  said  Mother,  knitting  on  the  sofa 
that  was  her  bed  at  night. 

She  had  put  her  needles  down  and  was  staring  at 
her  husband  ;  he  stared  at  Rogers  ;  all  three  stared 
at  each  other.  Something  each  wished  to  conceal 
moved  towards  utterance  and  revelation.  Yet  no 
one  of  them  wished  to  be  the  first  to  mention  it.  A 
great  change  had  come  of  late  upon  Bourcelles.  It 
no  longer  seemed  isolated  from  the  big  world  outside 
as  before ;  something  had  linked  it  up  with  the 
whole  surrounding  universe,  and  bigger,  deeper 
currents  of  life  flowed  through  it.  And  with  the 
individual  life  of  each  it  was  the  same.  All  dreamed 
the  same  enormous,  splendid  dream,  yet  dared  not 
tell  it— yet. 

Both  parents  realised  vaguely  that  it  was  some- 
thing their  visitor  had  brought,  but  what  could  it  be 
exactly  ?  It  was  in  his  atmosphere,  he  himself  least 
of  all  aware  of  it ;  it  was  in  his  thought,  his  attitude 
to  life,  yet  he  himself  so  utterly  unconscious  of  it.  It 
brought  out  all  the  best  in  everybody,  made  them 
feel  hopeful,  brighter,  more  courageous.  Yes,  cer- 
tainly, he  brought  it.  He  believed  in  them,  in  the 
best  of  them — they  lived  up  to  it  or  tried  to.  WTas 
that  it  ?     Was  it  belief  and  vision  that  he  brought 


xxiii       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        305 

into  their  lives,  though  unconsciously,  because  these 
qualities  lay  so  strongly  in  himself  ?  Belief  is  con- 
structive. It  is  what  people  are  rather  than  what 
they  preach  that  affects  others.  Two  strangers  meet 
and  bow  and  separate  without  a  word,  yet  each  has 
changed  ;  neither  leaves  the  other  quite  as  he  was 
before.  In  the  society  of  children,  moreover,  one 
believes  everything  in  the  world — for  the  moment. 
Belief  is  constructive  and  creative  ;  it  is  doubt  and 
cynicism  that  destroy.  In  the  presence  of  a  child 
these  latter  are  impossible.  Was  this  the  explanation 
of  the  effect  he  produced  upon  their  little  circle — 
the  belief  and  wonder  and  joy  of  Fairyland  ? 

For  a  moment  something  of  this  flashed  through 
Daddy's  mind.  Mother,  in  her  way,  was  aware  of 
something  similar.  But  neither  of  them  spoke  it. 
The  triangular  staring  was  its  only  evidence.  Mother 
resumed  her  knitting.  She  was  not  given  to  impul- 
sive utterance.  Her  husband  once  described  her  as 
a  solid  piece  of  furniture.     She  was. 

*  You  see,'  said  Daddy  bravely,  as  the  moment's 
tension  passed,  '  my  original  idea  was  simply  to  treat 
Bourcelles  as  an  epitome,  a  miniature,  so  to  speak,  of 
the  big  world,  while  showing  how  Nature  sweetened 
and  kept  it  pure  as  by  a  kind  of  alchemy.  But  that 
idea  has  grown.  I  have  the  feeling  now  that  the 
Bourcelles  we  know  is  a  mere  shadowy  projection 
cast  by  a  more  real  Bourcelles  behind.  It  is  only  the 
dream  village  we  know  in  our  waking  life.  The 
real  one — er — we  know  only  in  sleep.'  There  ! — it 
was  partly  out  ! 

Mother  turned  with  a  little  start.  '  You  mean 
when  we  sleep  ?  '  she  asked.  She  knitted  vigorously 
again  at  once,  as  though  ashamed  of  this  sudden 
betrayal    into     fantasy.      '  Why    not  ? '   she    added, 

x 


306        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

falling  back  upon  her  customary  non-committal 
phrase.  Yet  this  was  not  the  superior  attitude  he  had 
dreaded  ;  she  was  interested.  There  was  something 
she  wanted  to  confess,  if  she  only  dared.  Mother, 
too,  had  grown  softer  in  some  corner  of  her  being. 
Something  shone  through  her  with  a  tiny  golden 
radiance. 

'  But  this  idea  is  not  my  own,'  continued  Daddy, 
dangerously  near  to  wumbling.  '  It  comes  through 
me  only.  It  develops,  apparently,  when  I'm  asleep,' 
he  repeated.  He  sat  up  and  leaned  forward.  '  And, 
I  believe,'  he  added,  as  on  sudden  reckless  impulse, 
'  it  comes  from  you,  Henry.  Your  mind,  I  feel,  has 
brought  this  cargo  of  new  suggestion  and  discharged 
it  into  me — into  every  one — into  the  whole  blessed 
village.     Man,  I  think  you've  bewitched  us  all ! ' 

Mother  dropped  a  stitch,  so  keenly  was  she  listen- 
ing. A  moment  later  she  dropped  a  needle  too, 
and  the  two  men  picked  it  up,  and  handed  it  back 
together  as  though  it  weighed  several  pounds. 

'  Well,'  said  Rogers  slowly,  '  I  suppose  all  minds 
pour  into  one  another  somewhere — in  and  out  of  one 
another,  rather — and  that  there's  a  common  stock 
or  pool  all  draw  upon  according  to  their  needs  and 
power  to  assimilate.  But  I'm  not  conscious,  old 
man,  of  driving  anything  deliberately  into  you ' 

'  Only  you  think  and  feel  these  things  vividly 
enough  for  me  to  get  them  too,'  said  Daddy.  Luckily 
'  thought  transference '  was  not  actually  mentioned, 
or  Mother  might  have  left  the  room,  or  at  least  have 
betrayed  an  uneasiness  that  must  have  chilled  them. 

'  As  a  boy  I  imagined  pretty  strongly,'  in  a  tone 
of  apology,  *  but  never  since.  I  was  in  the  City, 
remember,  twenty  years ' 

'  It's  the   childhood   things,  then,'  Daddy   inter- 


xxiii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        307 

rupted  eagerly.  'You've  brought  the  great  childhood 
imagination  with  you — the  sort  of  gorgeous,  huge, 
and  endless  power  that  goes  on  fashioning  of  its  own 
accord  just  as  dreams  do ' 

*  I  did  indulge  in  that  sort  of  thing  as  a  boy,  yes,' 
was  the  half-guilty  reply  ;  '  but  that  was  years  and 
years  ago,  wasn't  it  ? ' 

'  They  have  survived,  then,'  said  Daddy  with 
decision.  *  The  sweetness  of  this  place  has  stimulated 
them  afresh.  The  children' —  he  glanced  suspiciously 
at  his  wife  for  a  moment — '  have  appropriated  them 
too.  It's  a  powerful  combination.'  After  a  pause  he 
added,  '  I  might  develop  that  idea  in  my  story — that 
you've  brought  back  the  sweet  creations  of  childhood 
with  you  and  captured  us  all — a  sort  of  starry  army.' 

'  Why  not  ?'  interpolated  Mother,  as  who  should 
say  there  was  no  harm  in  that.  'They  certainly  have 
been  full  of  mischief  lately.' 

'  Creation  is  mischievous,'  murmured  her  husband. 
'  But  since  you  have  come,'  he  continued  aloud, — 
'  how  can  I  express  it  exactly  ? — the  days  have  seemed 
larger,  fuller,  deeper,  the  forest  richer  and  more 
mysterious,  the  sky  much  closer,  and  the  stars  more 
soft  and  intimate.  I  dream  of  them,  and  they  all 
bring  me  messages  that  help  my  story.  Do  you 
know  what  I  mean  ?  There  were  days  formerly, 
when  life  seemed  empty,  thin,  peaked,  impoverished, 
its  scale  of  values  horribly  reduced,  whereas  now — 
since  you've  been  up  to  your  nonsense  with  the 
children — some  tide  stands  at  the  full,  and  things 
are  always  happening.' 

1  Well,  really,  Daddy  ! '  said  the  expression  on 
Mother's  face  and  hands  and  knitting-needles,  '  you 
are  splendid  to-day  '  ;  but  aloud  she  only  repeated 
her  little  hold-all  phrase,  '  Why  not  ? ' 


308        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

Yet  somehow  he  recognised  that  she  understood 
him  better  than  usual.  Her  language  had  not  changed 
— things  in  Mother  worked  slowly,  from  within 
outwards  as  became  her  solid  personality — but  it 
held  new  meaning.  He  felt  for  the  first  time  that 
he  could  make  her  understand,  and  more — that  she 
was  ready  to  understand.  That  is,  he  felt  new 
sympathy  with  her.  It  was  very  delightful,  stimulat- 
ing ;  he  instantly  loved  her  more,  and  felt  himself 
increased  at  the  same  time. 

'  I  believe  a  story  like  that  might  even  sell,'  he 
observed,  with  a  hint  of  reckless  optimism.  '  People 
might  recognise  a  touch  of  their  own  childhood  in 
it,  eh  ? ' 

He  longed  for  her  to  encourage  him  and  pat  him 
on  the  back. 

'  True,'  said  Mother,  smiling  at  him,  '  for  every 
one  likes  to  keep  in  touch  with  their  childhood — if 
they  can.  It  makes  one  feel  young  and  hopeful — 
jolly  ;  doesn't  it  ?     Why  not  ? ' 

Their  eyes  met.  Something,  long  put  aside  and 
buried  under  a  burden  of  exaggerated  care,  flashed 
deliciously  between  them.  Rogers  caught  it  flying 
and  felt  happy.  Bridges  were  being  repaired,  if  not 
newly  built. 

'  Nature,  you  see,  is  always  young  really,'  he  said ; 
'it's  full  of  children.  The  very  meaning  of  the 
word,  eh,  John  ? '  turning  to  his  cousin  as  who 
should  say,  '  We  knew  our  grammar  once.' 

'  Natura,  yes — something  about  to  produce.' 
They  laughed  in  their  superior  knowledge  of  a  Latin 
word,  but  Mother,  stirred  deeply  though  she  hardly 
knew  why,  was  not  to  be  left  out.  Would  the  bridge 
bear  her,  was  perhaps  her  thought. 

'  And  of  the  feminine  gender,'  she  added   slyly, 


xxhi        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        309 

with  a  touch  of  pride.  The  bridge  creaked,  but  did 
not  give  way.  She  said  it  very  quickly.  She  had 
suddenly  an  air  of  bouncing  on  her  sofa. 

'  Bravo,  Mother,'  said  her  husband,  looking  at 
her,  and  there  was  a  fondness  in  his  voice  that 
warmed  and  blessed  and  melted  down  into  her.  She 
had  missed  it  so  long  that  it  almost  startled  her. 
'  There's  the  eternal  old  magic,  Mother ;  you're 
right.  And  if  I  had  more  of  you  in  me — more  of 
the  creative  feminine — I  should  do  better  work,  I'm 
sure.     You  must  give  it  to  me.' 

She  kept  her  eyes  upon  her  needles.  The  others, 
being  unobservant  '  mere  men,'  did  not  notice  that 
the  stitches  she  made  must  have  produced  queer 
kind  of  stockings  if  continued.  '  We'll  be  collabor- 
ators,' Daddy  added,  in  the  tone  of  a  boy  building 
on  the  sands  at  Margate. 

'  I  will,'  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  '  if  only  I  know 
how.' 

'  Well,'  he  answered  enthusiastically,  looking  from 
one  to  the  other,  delighted  to  find  an  audience  to 
whom  he  could  talk  of  his  new  dream,  '  you  see,  this 
is  really  a  great  jolly  fairy-tale  I'm  trying  to  write. 
I'm  blessed  if  I  know  where  the  ideas  come  from,  or 
how  they  pour  into  me  like  this,  but — anyhow  it's  a 
new  experience,  and  I  want  to  make  the  most  of  it. 
I've  never  done  imaginative  work  before,  and — 
though  it  is  a  bit  fantastical,  I  mean  to  keep  in  touch 
with  reality  and  show  great  truths  that  emerge  from 
the  commonest  facts  of  life.  The  critics,  of  course, 
will  blame  me  for  not  giving  'em  the  banal  thing 
they  expect  from  me,  but  what  of  that  ?  '  He  was 
dreadfully  reckless. 

1 1  see,'  said  Mother,  gazing  open-mindedly  into 
his  face  ;  '  but  where  does  my  help  come  in,  please  \  ' 


310        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

She  leaned  back,  half-sighing,  half-smiling.  '  Here's 
my  life  ' — she  held  up  her  needles — *  and  that's  the 
soul  of  prosaic  dulness,  isn't  it  ? ' 

'  On  the  contrary,'  he  answered  eagerly,  '  it's 
reality.  It's  courage,  patience,  heroism.  You're  a 
spring-board  for  my  fairy-tale,  though  I'd  never 
realised  it  before.  I  shall  put  you  in,  just  as  you 
are.     You'll  be  one  of  the  earlier  chapters.' 

'  Every  one'll  skip  me,  then,  I'm  afraid.' 

'  Not  a  bit,'  he  laughed  gaily  ;  '  they'll  feel  you 
all  through  the  book.  Their  minds  will  rest  on  you. 
You'll  be  a  foundation.  "  Mother's  there,"  they'll 
say,  "so  it's  all  right.  This  isn't  nonsense.  We'll 
read  on."     And  they  will  read  on.' 

'  I'm  all  through  it,  then  ? ' 

'  Like  the  binding  that  mothers  the  whole  book, 
you  see,'  put  in  Rogers,  delighted  to  see  them  getting 
on  so  well,  yet  amazed  to  hear  his  cousin  talk  so 
openly  with  her  of  his  idea. 

Daddy  continued,  unabashed  and  radiant.  Hitherto, 
he  knew,  his  wife's  attitude,  though  never  spoken, 
had  been  very  different.  She  almost  resented  his 
intense  preoccupation  with  stories  that  brought  in  so 
little  cash.  It  would  have  been  better  if  he  taught 
English  or  gave  lessons  in  literature  for  a  small  but 
regular  income.  He  gave  too  much  attention  to 
these  unremunerative  studies  of  types  she  never  met 
in  actual  life.  She  was  proud  of  the  reviews,  and 
pasted  them  neatly  in  a  big  book,  but  his  help 
and  advice  on  the  practical  details  of  the  children's 
clothing  and  education  were  so  scanty.  Hers  seemed 
ever  the  main  burden. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  though  she  distrusted 
fantasy  and  deemed  it  destructive  of  action,  she  felt 
something  real.      She   listened   with   a   kind   of  be- 


xxm        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        311 

lieving  sympathy.  She  noticed,  moreover,  with  keen 
pleasure,  that  her  attitude  fed  him.  He  talked  so 
freely,  happily  about  it  all.  Already  her  sympathy, 
crudely  enough  expressed,  brought  fuel  to  his  fires. 
Some  one  had  put  starlight  into  her. 

'  He's  been  hungry  for  this  all  along,'  she  reflected ; 
1 1  never  realised  it.  I've  thought  only  of  myself 
without  knowing  it.' 

*  Yes,  I'll  put  you  in,  old  Mother,'  he  went  on, 
'  and  Rogers  and  the  children  too.  In  fact,  you're 
in  it  already,'  he  chuckled,  '  if  you  want  to  know. 
Each  of  you  plays  his  part  all  day  long  without 
knowing  it.'  He  changed  his  seat,  going  over  to 
the  window-sill,  and  staring  down  upon  them  as  he 
talked  on  eagerly.  '  Don't  you  feel,'  he  said,  en- 
thusiasm growing  and  streaming  from  him,  'how  all 
this  village  life  is  a  kind  of  dream  we  act  out  against 
the  background  of  the  sunshine,  while  our  truer, 
deeper  life  is  hidden  somewhere  far  below  in  half 
unconsciousness  ?  Our  daily  doings  are  but  the 
little  bits  that  emerge,  tips  of  acts  and  speech  that 
poke  up  and  out,  masquerading  as  complete  ?  In 
that  vaster  sea  of  life  we  lead  below  the  surface  lies 
my  big  story,  my  fairy-tale — when  we  sleep.'  He 
paused  and  looked  down  questioningly  upon  them. 
*  When  we  sleep,'  he  repeated  impressively,  struggling 
with  his  own  thought.  '  You,  Mother,  while  you 
knit  and  sew,  slip  down  into  that  enormous  under- 
sea and  get  a  glimpse  ot  the  coloured  pictures  that 
pass  eternally  behind  the  veil.  I  do  the  same  when 
I  watch  the  twilight  from  my  window  in  reverie. 
Sunshine  obliterates  them,  but  they  go  just  the  same. 
You  call  it  day-dreaming.  Our  waking  hours  are 
the  clothes  we  dress  the  spirit  in  after  its  nightly 
journeys  and  activities.      Imagination  does  not  create 


312        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

so  much  as  remember.  Then,  by  transforming,  it 
reveals.' 

Mother  sat  staring  blankly  before  her,  utterly 
lost,  while  her  husband  flung  these  lumps  of  the  raw 
material  of  his  story  at  her — of  its  atmosphere,  rather. 
Even  Rogers  felt  puzzled,  and  hardly  followed  what 
he  heard.  The  intricacies  of  an  artistic  mind  were 
indeed  bewildering.  How  in  the  world  would  these 
wild  fragments  weave  together  into  any  intelligible 
pattern  ? 

'  You  mean  that  we  travel  when  we  sleep,'  he 
ventured,  remembering  a  phrase  that  Minks  had 
somewhere  used,  '  and  that  our  real  life  is  out  of  the 
body  ?  '  His  cousin  was  taking  his  thought — or  was 
it  originally  Minks's  ? — wholesale. 

Mother  looked  up  gratefully.  *  I  often  dream 
I'm  flying,' she  put  in  solemnly.  '  Lately,  in  particular, 
I've  dreamed  of  stars  and  funny  things  like  that  a 
lot/ 

Daddy  beamed  his  pleasure.  *  In  my  fairy-tale  we 
shall  all  see  stars,'  he  laughed,  '  and  we  shall  all  get 
"  out."  For  our  thoughts  will  determine  the  kind  of 
experience  and  adventure  we  have  when  the  spirit  is 
free  and  unhampered.  And  contrariwise,  the  kind 
of  things  we  do  at  night — in  sleep,  in  dream — will 
determine  our  behaviour  during  the  day.  There's 
the  importance  of  thinking  rightly,  you  see.  Out 
of  the  body  is  eternal,  and  thinking  is  more  than 
doing — it's  more  complete.  The  waking  days  are 
brief  intervals  of  test  that  betray  the  character  of 
our  hidden  deeper  life.  We  are  judged  in  sleep. 
We  last  for  ever  and  ever.  In  the  day,  awake, 
we  stand  before  the  easel  on  which  our  adventures 
of  the  night  have  painted  those  patterns  which  are 
the    very    structure  of  our    outer   life's    behaviour. 


xxm        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        313 

When  we  sleep  again  we  re-enter  the  main  stream  of 
our  spirit's  activity.  In  the  day  we  forget,  of  course 
— as  a  rule,  and  most  of  us — but  we  follow  the 
pattern  just  the  same,  unwittingly,  because  we  can't 
help  it.     It's  the  mould  we've  made.' 

'  Then  your  story,'  Rogers  interrupted,  '  will  show 
the  effect  in  the  daytime  of  what  we  do  at  night  ? 
Is  that  it  ?  '  It  amazed  him  to  hear  his  cousin 
borrowing  thus  the  entire  content  of  his  own  mind, 
sucking  it  out  whole  like  a  ripe  plum  from  its  skin. 

'  Of  course,'  he  answered  ;  '  and  won't  it  be  a  lark  ? 
We'll  all  get  out  in  sleep  and  go  about  the  village 
together  in  a  bunch,  helping,  soothing,  cleaning  up, 
and  putting  everybody  straight,  so  that  when  they 
wake  up  they'll  wonder  why  in  the  world  they  f^l 
so  hopeful,  strong,  and  happy  all  of  a  sudden. 
We'll  put  thoughts  of  beauty  into  them — beauty,  you 
remember,  which  "  is  a  promise  of  happiness."  ' 

'  Ah  ! '  said  Mother,  seizing  at  his  comprehensible 
scrap  with  energy.     *  That  is  a  story.' 

'  If  I  don't  get  it  wumbled  in  the  writing  down,' 
her  husband  continued,  fairly  bubbling  over.  '  You 
must  keep  me  straight,  remember,  with  your  needles 
— your  practical  aspirations,  that  is.  I'll  read  it  out 
to  you  bit  by  bit,  and  you'll  tell  me  where  I've 
dropped  a  stitch  or  used  the  wrong  wool,  eh  ? ' 

1  Mood  ? '  she  asked. 

'  No,  wool,'  he  said,  louder. 

There  was  a  pause. 

'  But  you  see  my  main  idea,  don't  you — that  the 
sources  of  our  life  lie  hid  with  beauty  very  very  far 
away,  and  that  our  real,  big,  continuous  life  is 
spiritual — out  of  the  body,  as  I  shall  call  it.  The 
waking-day  life  uses  what  it  can  bring  over  from 
this  enormous  under-running  sea  of  universal  con- 


3 14        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

sciousness  where  we're  all  together,  splendid,  free, 
untamed,  and  where  thinking  is  creation  and  we  feel 
and  know  each  other  face  to  face  ?  See  ?  Sympathy 
the  great  solvent  ?  All  linked  together  by  thought 
as  stars  are  by  their  rays.  Ah  !  You  get  my  idea — 
the  great  Network  ? ' 

He  looked  straight  into  his  wife's  eyes.  They 
were  opened  very  wide.  Her  mouth  had  opened  a 
little,  too.  She  understood  vaguely  that  he  was  using 
a  kind  of  shorthand  really.  These  cryptic  sentences 
expressed  in  emotional  stenography  mere  odds  and 
ends  that  later  would  drop  into  their  prober  places, 
translated  into  the  sequence  of  acts  that  are  the 
scaffolding  of  a  definite  story.  This  she  firmly  grasped 
— but  no  more. 

'It's  grand — a  wonderful  job,'  she  answered, 
sitting  back  upon  the  sofa  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and 
again  bouncing  a  little  in  the  process,  so  that  Rogers 
had  a  horrible  temptation  to  giggle.  The  tension  of 
listening  had  been  considerable.  '  People,  you  mean, 
will  realise  how  important  thinking  is,  and  that  sym- 
pathy— er '  and  she  hesitated,  floundering. 

1  Is  the  great  way  to  grow,'  Rogers  quickly  helped 
her,  '  because  by  feeling  with  another  person  you  add 
his  mind  to  yours  and  so  get  bigger.  And  ' — turning 
to  his  cousin — '  you're  taking  starlight  as  the  symbol 
of  sympathy  ?  You  told  me  that  the  other  day,  I 
remember.'  But  the  author  did  not  hear  or  did  not 
answer  ;  his  thought  was  far  away  in  his  dream 
again. 

The  situation  was  saved.  All  the  bridges  had 
borne  well.  Daddy,  having  relieved  his  overcharged 
mind,  seemed  to  have  come  to  a  full  stop.  The  Den 
was  full  of  sunlight.  A  delightful  feeling  of  intimacy 
wove  the  three  humans  together.      Mother   caught 


xxiii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        315 

herself  thinking  of  the  far-off"  courtship  days  when 
their  love  ran  strong  and  clear.  She  felt  at  one  with 
her  husband,  and  remembered  him  as  lover.  She 
felt  in  touch  with  him  all  over.  And  Rogers  was 
such  a  comfortable  sort  of  person.  Tact  was  indeed 
well  named — sympathy  so  delicately  adjusted  that  it 
involved  feeling-with  to  the  point  of  actual  touch. 

Daddy  came  down  from  his  perch  upon  the 
window-sill,  stretched  his  arms,  and  drew  a  great 
happy  sigh. 

1  Mother,'  he  added,  rising  to  go  out,  '  you  shall 
help  me,  dearie.  We'll  write  this  great  fairy-tale  of 
mine  together,  eh  ? '  He  stooped  and  kissed  her, 
feeling  love  and  tenderness  and  sympathy  in  his 
heart. 

'  You  brave  old  Mother  I '  he  laughed  ;  '  we'll 
send  Eddie  to  Oxford  yet,  see  if  we  don't.  A  book 
like  that  might  earn  £100  or  even  ^200.' 

Another  time  she  would  have  answered,  though 
not  bitterly,  '  Meanwhile  I'll  go  on  knitting  stock- 
ings,' or  '  Why  not  ?  we  shall  see  what  we  shall  see ' 
— something,  at  any  rate,  corrective  and  rather  sober, 
quenching.  But  this  time  she  said  nothing.  She 
returned  the  kiss  instead,  without  looking  up  from 
her  needles,  and  a  great  big  thing  like  an  unborn 
child  moved  near  her  heart.  He  had  not  called  her 
'  dearie '  for  so  long  a  time,  it  took  her  back  to  their 
earliest  days  together  at  a  single,  disconcerting  bound. 
She  merely  stroked  his  shoulder  as  he  straightened 
up  and  left  the  room.  Her  eyes  then  followed  him 
out,  and  he  turned  at  the  door  and  waved  his  hand. 
Rogers,  to  her  relief,  saw  him  to  the  end  of  the 
passage,  and  her  handkerchief  was  out  of  sight  again 
before  he  returned.  As  he  came  in  she  realised  even 
more  clearly  than  before  that  he  somehow  was  the 


3i6        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

cause  of  the  changing  relationship.  He  it  was  who 
brought  this  something  that  bridged  the  years — made 
old  bridges  safe  to  use  again.  And  her  love  went 
out  to  him.  He  was  a  man  she  could  open  her  heart 
to  even. 

Patterns  of  starry  beauty  had  found  their  way  in 
and  were  working  out  in  all  of  them.  But  Mother, 
of  course,  knew  nothing  of  this.  There  was  a 
tenderness  in  him  that  won  her  confidence.  That 
was  all  she  felt.  '  Oh,  dear,'  she  thought  in  her  odd 
way,  *  what  a  grand  thing  a  man  is  to  be  sure,  when 
he's  got  that ! '  It  was  like  one  of  Jane  Anne's 
remarks. 

As  he  came  in  she  had  laid  the  stocking  aside  and 
was  threading  a  needle  for  darning  and  buttons,  and 
the  like. 

'  "  Threading  the  eye  of  a  yellow  star,"  eh  ? '  he 
laughed,  '  and  always  at  it.  You've  stirred  old 
Daddy  up  this  time.  He's  gone  off  to  his  story, 
simply  crammed  full.  What  a  help  and  stimulus  you 
must  be  to  him  ! ' 

' 1,'  she  said,  quite  flabbergasted  ;  *  I  only  wish  it 
were  true — again.'  The  last  word  slipped  out  by 
accident ;  she  had  not  meant  it. 

But  Rogers  ignored  it,  even  if  he  noticed  it. 

'  I  never  can  help  him  in  his  work.  I  don't 
understand  it  enough.  I  don't  understand  it  at  all.' 
She  was  ashamed  to  hedge  with  this  man.  She  looked 
him  straight  in  the  eye. 

'  But  he  feels  your  sympathy,'  was  his  reply.  '  It's 
not  always  necessary  to  understand.  That  might 
only  muddle  him.  You  help  by  wishing,  feeling, 
sympathising — believing.' 

'  You  really  think  so  ? '  she  asked  simply.  '  What 
wonderful   thoughts   you   have !     One   has   read,  of 


xxin        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        317 

course,  of  wives  who  inspired  their  husbands'  work  ; 
but  it  seemed  to  belong  to  books  rather  than  to 
actual  life.' 

Rogers  looked  at  her  thoughtful,  passionate  face 
a  moment  before  he  answered.  He  realised  that  his 
words  would  count  with  her.  They  approached 
delicate  ground.  She  had  an  absurd  idea  of  his  im- 
portance in  their  lives  ;  she  exaggerated  his  influence  ; 
if  he  said  a  wrong  thing  its  effect  upon  her  would  be 
difficult  to  correct. 

'  Well,'  he  said,  feeling  mischief  in  him,  '  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  that  I  should  never  have  understood 
that  confused  idea  of  his  story  but  for  one  thing.' 

*  What  was  that  ?  '  she  asked,  relieved  to  feel  more 
solid  ground  at  last. 

'  That  I  saw  the  thing  from  his  own  point  of  view,' 
he  replied  ;  '  because  I  have  had  similar  thoughts 
all  my  life.  I  mean  that  he's  bagged  it  all  uncon- 
sciously out  of  my  own  mind  ;  though,  of  course,' 
he  hastened  to  add,  '  I  could  never,  never  have  made 
use  of  it  as  he  will.  I  could  never  give  it  shape  and 
form.' 

Mother  began  to  laugh  too.  He  caught  the 
twinkle  in  her  eyes.  She  bounced  again  a  little 
on  the  springy  sofa  as  she  turned  towards  him, 
confession  on  her  lips  at  last. 

'  And  I  do  believe  you've  felt  it  too,  haven't 
you  ? '  he  asked  quickly,  before  she  could  change  her 
mind. 

'  I've  felt  something — yes,'  she  assented  ;  '  odd, 
unsettled  ;  new  things  rushing  everywhere  about  us  ; 
the  children  mysterious  and  up  to  all  sorts  of  games 
and  wickedness  ;  and  bright  light  over  everything, 
like — like  a  scene  in  a  theatre,  somehow.  It's  exhila- 
rating, but  I  can't  quite  make  it  out.     It  can't  be 


CHAP. 


318        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND 

right  to  feel  so  frivolous  and  jumpy-about  at  my  age, 
can  it  ?  ' 

'  You  feel  lighter,  eh  ? 

She  burst  out  laughing.  Mother  was  a  prosaic 
person  ;  that  is,  she  had  strong  common-sense ;  yet 
through  her  sober  personality  there  ran  like  a 
streak  of  light  some  hint  of  fairy  lightness,  derived 
probably  from  her  Celtic  origin.  Now,  as  Rogers 
watched  her,  he  caught  a  flash  of  that  raciness  and 
swift  mobility,  that  fluid,  protean  elasticity  of  tem- 
perament which  belonged  to  the  fairy  kingdom.  The 
humour  and  pathos  in  her  had  been  smothered 
by  too  much  care.  She  accepted  old  age  before 
her  time.  He  saw  her,  under  other  conditions, 
dancing,  singing,  full  of  Ariel  tricks  and  mischief — 
instead  of  eternally  mending  stockings  and  saving 
centimes  for  peat  and  oil  and  washerwomen.  He 
even  saw  her  feeding  fantasy — poetry — to  Daddy 
like  a  baby  with  a  spoon.  The  contrast  made  him 
laugh  out  loud. 

*  You've  lived  here  five  years,'  he  went  on, 
'  but  lived  too  heavily.  Care  has  swamped  imagina- 
tion. I  did  the  same — in  the  City — for  twenty  years. 
It's  all  wrong.  One  has  to  learn  to  live  carelessly  as 
well  as  carefully.  When  I  came  here  I  felt  all  astray 
at  first,  but  now  I  see  more  clearly.  The  peace  and 
beauty  have  soaked  into  me.'  He  hesitated  an 
instant,  then  continued.  Even  if  she  didn't  grasp 
his  meaning  now  with  her  brains,  it  would  sink  down 
into  her  and  come  through  later. 

1  The  important  things  of  life  are  very  few  really. 
They  stand  out  vividly  here.  You've  both  vegetated, 
fossilised,  atrophied  a  bit.  I  discovered  it  in  my  own 
case  when  I  went  back  to  Crayfield  and ' 

He  told  her  about  his  sentimental  journey,  and 


xxiii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND 


3*9 


how  he  found  all  the  creations  of  his  childhood's 
imagination  still  so  alive  and  kicking  in  a  forgotten 
backwater  of  his  mind  that  they  all  hopped  out  and 
took  objective  form — the  sprites,  the  starlight  express, 
the  boundless  world  of  laughter,  fun  and  beauty. 

•  And,  without  exactly  knowing  it,  I  suppose  I've 
brought  them  all  out  here,'  he  continued,  seeing  that 
she  drank  it  in  thirstily,  *  and — somehow  or  other — 
you  all  have  felt  it  and  responded.  It's  not  my 
doing,  of  course,'  he  added  ;  '  it's  simply  that  I'm  the 
channel  as  it  were,  and  Daddy,  with  his  somewhat 
starved  artist's  hunger  of  mind,  was  the  first  to  fill 
up.  It's  pouring  through  him  now  in  a  story,  don't 
you  see  ;  but  we're  all  in  it ' 

'  In  a  way,  yes,  that's  what  I've  felt,'  Mother 
interrupted.  '  It's  all  a  kind  of  dream  here,  and  I've 
just  waked  up.  The  unchanging  village,  the  forests, 
the  Pension  with  its  queer  people,  the  Magic  Box ' 

'  Like  a  play  in  a  theatre,'  he  interrupted,  '  isn't 
it?' 

1  Exactly,'  she  laughed,  yet  half-seriously. 

1  While  your  husband  is  the  dramatist  that  writes 
it  down  in  acts  and  scenes.  You  see,  his  idea  is, 
perhaps,  that  life  as  we  know  it  is  never  a  genuine 
story,  complete  and  leading  to  a  climax.  It's  all  in 
disconnected  fragments  apparently.  It  goes  back- 
wards and  forwards,  up  and  down,  in  and  out  in  a 
wumbled  muddle,  just  anyhow,  as  it  were.  The 
fragments  seem  out  of  their  proper  place,  the  first 
ones  often  last,  and  vice  versa.  It  seems  inconse- 
quential, because  we  only  see  the  scraps  that  break 
through  from  below,  from  the  true  inner,  deeper  life 
that  flows  on  steadily  and  dramatically  out  of  sight. 
That's  what  he  means  by  "  out  of  the  body  "  and 
"  sleep  "  and  "  dreaming."     The  great  pattern  is  too 


320        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

big  and  hidden  for  us  to  see  it  whole,  just  as  when 
you  knit  I  only  see  the  stitches  as  you  make  them, 
although  the  entire  pattern  is  in  your  mind  complete. 
Our  daily,  external  acts  are  the  stitches  we  show  to 
others  and  that  everybody  sees.  A  spiritual  person 
sees  the  whole.' 

'  Ah  ! '  Mother  interrupted,  '  I  understand  now. 
To  know  the  whole  pattern  in  my  mind  you'd  have 
to  get  in  sympathy  with  my  thought  below.  Is 
that  it  ? ' 

'  Sometimes  we  look  over  the  fence  of  mystery, 
yes,  and  see  inside — see  the  entire  stage  as  it  were.' 

'  It  is  like  a  great  play,  isn't  it  ? '  she  repeated, 
grasping  again  at  the  analogy  with  relief.  '  We  give 
one  another  cues,  and  so  on ' 

'  While  each  must  know  the  whole  play  complete 
in  order  to  act  his  part  properly — be  in  sympathy, 
that  is,  with  all  the  others.  The  tiniest  details  so 
important,  too,'  he  added,  glancing  significantly  at  the 
needles  on  her  lap.  '  To  act  your  own  part  faithfully 
you  must  carry  all  the  others  in  your  mind,  or  else — 
er — get  your  own  part  out  of  proportion.' 

'  It  will  be  a  wonderful  story,  won't  it  ? '  she  said, 
after  a  pause  in  which  her  eyes  travelled  across  the 
sunshine  towards  the  carpenter's  house  where  her 
husband,  seen  now  in  a  high  new  light,  laboured 
steadily. 

There  was  a  clatter  in  the  corridor  before  he  could 
reply,  and  Jimbo  and  Monkey  flew  in  with  a  rush  of 
wings  and  voices  from  school.  They  were  upon  him 
in  an  instant,  smelling  of  childhood,  copy-books,  ink, 
and  rampagious  with  hunger.  Their  skins  and  hair 
were  warm  with  sunlight.  '  After  tea  we'll  go  out,' 
they  cried,  '  and  show  you  something  in  the  forest — 
oh,  an  enormous  and  wonderful  thing  that  nobody 


xxiii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        321 

knows  of  but  me  and  Jimbo,  and  comes  over  every 
night  from  France  and  hides  inside  a  cave,  and  goes 
back  just  before  sunrise  with  a  sack  full  of  think- 
ings  ■' 

'  Thoughts,'  corrected  Jimbo. 

' that  haven't  reached  the  people  they  were 

meant  for,  and  then ' 


'Go  into  the  next  room,  wash  yourselves  and  tidy 
up,'  said  Mother  sternly,  '  and  then  lay  the  table  for 
tea.  Jinny  isn't  in  yet.  Put  the  charcoal  in  the 
samovar.      I'll  come  and  light  it  in  a  moment.' 

They  disappeared  obediently,  though  once  behind 
the  door  there  were  sounds  that  resembled  a  pillow- 
fight  rather  than  tidying -up  ;  and  when  Mother 
presently  went  after  them  to  superintend,  Rogers 
sat  by  the  window  and  stared  across  the  vineyards 
and  blue  expanse  of  lake  at  the  distant  Alps.  It  was 
curious.  This  vague,  disconnected,  rambling  talk 
with  Mother  had  helped  to  clear  his  own  mind  as 
well.  In  trying  to  explain  to  her  something  he  hardly 
understood  himself,  his  own  thinking  had  clarified. 
All  these  trivial  scenes  were  little  bits  of  rehearsal. 
The  Company  was  still  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the 
Star  Player  who  should  announce  the  beginning  of 
the  real  performance.  It  was  a  woman's  role,  yet 
Mother  certainly  could  not  play  it.  To  get  the 
family  really  straight  was  equally  beyond  his  powers. 
'  I  really  must  have  more  common-sense,'  he  reflected 
uneasily  ;  '  I  am  getting  out  of  touch  with  reality 
somewhere.     I'll  write  to  Minks  again.' 

Minks,  at  the  moment,  was  the  only  definite, 
positive   object  in  the  outer  world  he  could  recall. 

'I'll  write  to  him  about '      His  thought  went 

wumbling.  He  quite  forgot  what  it  was  he  had  to 
say  to  him — '  Oh,  about  lots  of  things,'  he  concluded, 

Y 


322        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

'  his  wife  and  children  and — and  his  own  future  and 
so  on.' 

The  Scheme  had  melted  into  air,  it  seemed. 
People  lost  in  Fairyland,  they  say,  always  forget  the 
outer  world  of  unimportant  happenings.  They  live 
too  close  to  the  source  of  things  to  recognise  their 
clownish  reflections  in  the  distorted  mirrors  of  the 
week-day  level. 

Yes,  it  was  curious,  very  curious.  Did  Thought, 
then,  issue  primarily  from  some  single  source  and 
pass  thence  along  the  channels  of  men's  minds,  each 
receiving  and  interpreting  according  to  his  needs  and 
powers  ?  Was  the  Message — the  Prophet's  Vision — 
merely  the  more  receipt  of  it  than  most?  Had, 
perhaps,  this  whole  wonderful  story  his  cousin  wrote 
originated,  not  in  his,  Rogers's  mind,  nor  in  that  of 
Minks,  but  in  another's  altogether — the  mind  of  her 
who  was  destined  for  the  principal  r61e  ?  Thrills  of 
absurd,  electric  anticipation  rushed  through  him — 
very  boyish,  wildly  impossible,  yet  utterly  delicious. 

Two  doors  opened  suddenly — one  from  the 
kitchen,  admitting  Monkey  with  a  tray  of  cups  and 
saucers,  steam  from  the  hissing  samovar  wrapping 
her  in  a  cloud,  the  other  from  the  corridor,  letting  in 
Jane  Anne,  her  arms  full  of  packages.  She  had  been 
shopping  for  the  family  in  Neuchatel,  and  was 
arrayed  in  garments  from  the  latest  Magic  Box.  She 
was  eager  and  excited. 

'  Cousinenry,'  she  cried,  dropping  half  the  parcels 
in  her  fluster,  *  I've  had  a  letter  ! '  It  was  in  her 
hand,  whereas  the  parcels  had  been  merely  under  her 
arms.  '  The  postman  gave  it  me  himself  as  I  came 
up  the  steps.  I'm  a  great  correspondencer,  you 
know.'  And  she  darted  through  the  steam  to  tell 
her  mother.     Jimbo  passed  her,  carrying  the  tea-pot, 


xxiii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        323 

the  sugar-basin  dangerously  balanced  upon  spoons 
and  knives  and  butter-dish.  He  said  nothing,  but 
glanced  at  his  younger  sister  significantly.  Rogers 
saw  the  entire  picture  through  the  cloud  of  steam, 
shot  through  with  sunlight  from  the  window.  It  was 
like  a  picture  in  the  clouds.  But  he  intercepted  that 
glance  and  knew  then  the  writer  of  the  letter. 

*  But  did  you  get  the  mauve  ribbon,  child  ? '  asked 
Mother. 

Instead  of  answer,  the  letter  was  torn  noisily  open. 
Jinny  never  had  letters.  It  was  far  more  important 
than  ribbons. 

*  And  how  much  change  have  you  left  out  of  the 
five  francs  ?     Daddy  will  want  to  know.' 

Jimbo  and  Monkey  were  listening  carefully,  while 
pretending  to  lay  the  table.  Mother's  silence  betrayed 
that  she  was  reading  the  letter  with  interest  and 
curiosity  equal  to  those  of  its  recipient. 

'  Who  wrote  it  ?  Who's  it  from  ?  I  must 
answer  it  at  once,'  Jinny  was  saying  with  great  im- 
portance. '  What  time  does  the  post  go,  I  wonder  ? 
I  mustn't  miss  it.' 

'  The  post-mark,'  announced  Mother,  *  is  Bour- 
celles.  It's  very  mysterious.'  She  tapped  the  letter 
with  one  hand,  like  the  villain  in  the  theatre.  Rogers 
heard  her  and  easily  imagined  the  accompanying  stage 
gesture.  '  The  handwriting  on  the  envelope  is  like 
Tante  Anna,'  he  heard,  '  but  the  letter  itself  is  differ- 
ent. It's  all  capitals,  and  wrongly  spelt.'  Mile. 
Lemaire  was  certainly  not  the  writer. 

Jimbo  and  Monkey  were  busy  hanging  the  towel 
out  of  the  window,  signal  to  Daddy  that  tea  was 
ready.  But  as  Daddy  was  already  coming  down  the 
street  at  a  great  pace,  apparently  excited  too,  they 
waved  it  instead.      Rogers  suddenly  remembered  that 


324        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

Jimbo  that  morning  had  asked  him  for  a  two-centime 
stamp.  He  made  no  remark,  however,  merely 
wondering  what  was  in  the  letter  itself. 

'  It's  a  joke,  of  course,'  Mother  was  heard  to  say 
in  an  odd  voice. 

'  Oh  no,  Mother,  for  how  could  anybody  know  ? 
It's  what  I've  been  dreaming  about  for  nights  and 
nights.      It's  so  aromantic,  isn't  it  ? ' 

The  louder  hissing  of  the  samovar  buried  the  next 
words,  and  at  that  moment  Daddy  came  into  the 
room.  He  was  smiling  and  his  eyes  were  bright.  He 
glanced  at  the  table  and  sat  down  by  his  cousin  on 
the  sofa. 

1  I've  done  a  lot  of  work  since  you  saw  me,'  he 
said  happily,  patting  him  on  the  knee,  '  although  in 
so  short  a  time.  And  I  want  my  cup  of  tea.  It 
came  so  easily  and  fluently  for  a  wonder  ;  I  don't 
believe  I  shall  have  to  change  a  word — though  usually 
I  distrust  this  sort  of  rapid  composition.' 

*  Where  are  you  at  now  ?  '  asked  Rogers. 

'  We're  all  "  out,"  '  was  the  reply,  '  and  the  Star- 
light Express  is  just  about  to  start  and — Mother, 
let  me  carry  that  for  you,'  he  exclaimed,  turning 
round  as  his  wife  appeared  in  the  doorway  with  more 
tea-things.  He  got  up  quickly,  but  before  he  could 
reach  her  side  Jinny  flew  into  his  arms  and  kissed 
him. 

*  Did  you  get  my  tobacco,  Jinny  ? '  he  asked. 
She  thrust  the  letter  under  his  nose.  What  was 
tobacco,  indeed,  compared  to  an  important  letter  ! 
'You  can  keep  the  change  for  yourself.' 

He  read  it  slowly  with  a  puzzled  expression, 
while  Mother  and  the  children  watched  him.  Riquette 
jumped  down  from  her  chair  and  rubbed  herself 
against  his  leg  while  he  scratched  himself  with  his 


xxiii        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        325 

boot,  thinking  it  was  the  rough  stocking  that  tickled 
him. 

'  Eh?  This  is  very  queer,'  he  muttered,  slapping 
the  open  sheet  just  as  his  wife  had  done,  and  reading 
it  again  at  arm's-length.  '  Somebody  ' — he  looked 
suspiciously  round  the  room — '  has  been  reading  my 
notes  or  picking  out  my  thoughts  while  I'm  asleep,  eh?' 

'But  it's  a  real  letter,'  objected  Jinny;  'it's  cor- 
respondence, isn't  it,  Daddy  ?  ' 

1  It  is  certainly  a  correspondence,'  he  comforted 
her,  and  then,  reading  it  aloud,  he  proceeded  to  pin 
it  on  the  wall  above  the  mantelpiece  :  — 

'  The  Starlight  Xpress  starts  to-night,  Be  reddy 
and  punctuel.     Sleep  titely  and  get  out.' 

That  was  all.     But  everybody  exchanged  glances. 

'  Odd,'  thought  Mother,  again  remembering  her 
dreams. 

Jimbo  upset  the  milk-jug.  Usually  there  would 
have  been  a  rumpus  over  this.  To-day  it  seemed 
like  something  happening  far  away — something  that 
had  not  really  happened  at  all. 

'  We  must  all  be  ready  then,'  said  Rogers,  noticing 
vaguely  that  Mother's  sleeve  had  smeared  the  butter 
as  she  mopped  up  the  mess. 

Daddy  was  making  a  note  on  his  shirt  sleeve  : — 

The  Sweep,  the  Laugher  and  the  Tramp, 
The  running  man  who  lights  the  lamp, 

The  Woman  of  the  Haystack,  too, 
The  Gardener  and  Man  of  Dust 
Are  passengers  because  they  must 

Follow  the  Guard  with  eyes  of  blue. 
Over  the  forests  and  into  the  Cave 
That  is  the  way  we  must  all  behave 

*  Please,  Daddy,  will  you  move  ?  It's  dripping  on 
to  your  boot.' 


326        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  ch.  xxm 

They  all  looked  down  ;  the  milk  had  splashed 
from  the  cloth  and  fallen  upon  the  toe  of  his  big 
mountain  boots.  It  made  a  pretty,  white  star. 
Riquette  was  daintily  lapping  it  up  with  her  long 
pink  tongue.  Ray  by  ray  the  star  set  in  her 
mysterious  interior. 

'Riquette  must  come  too,'  said  Rogers  gravely. 
'She's  full  of  white  starlight  now.' 

And  Jimbo  left  his  chair  and  went  seriously  over 
to  the  book-shelf  above  Mother's  sofa-bed  to  arrange 
the  signals.  For  between  the  tightly-wedged  books 
he  had  inserted  all  the  available  paper-knives  and 
book-markers  he  could  find  to  represent  railway- 
signals.  They  stuck  out  at  different  angles.  He 
altered  several,  putting  some  up,  some  down,  and 
some  at  right  angles. 

*  The  line's  all  clear  for  to-night,'  he  announced 
to  Daddy  with  a  covert  significance  he  hardly  grasped 
himself,  then  coming  back  to  home-made  jam  and 
crusty  village  bread. 

Jane  Anne  caught  her  father's  answering  glance 
— mysterious,  full  of  unguessed  meanings.  'Oh, 
excuse  me,  Mother,'  she  said,  feeling  the  same  thing 
in  herself  and  a  little  frightened  ;  '  but  I  do  believe 
they're  conspiring,  aren't  they  ? ' 

And  Mother  gave  a  sudden  start,  whose  cause  she 
equally  failed  to  analyse.  'Hush,  dear,'  she  said. 
'  Don't  criticise  your  elders,  and  when  you  do,  don't 
use  long  words  you  cannot  possibly  understand.' 

And  everybody  understood  something  none  of 
them  understood — while  tea  went  on  as  usual  to  the 
chatter  of  daily  details  of  external  life. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

AH  we  have  willed  or  hoped  or  dreamed  of  good  shall  exist  ; 
Not  its  semblance,  but  itself;  no  beauty,  nor  good,  nor  power 
Whose  voice  has  gone  forth,  but  each  survives  for  the  melodist 
When  eternity  affirms  the  conception  of  an  hour. 
The  high  that  proved  too  high,  the  heroic  for  earth  too  hard, 
The  passion  that  left  the  ground  to  lose  itself  in  the  sky, 
Are  music  sent  up  to  God  by  the  lover  and  the  bard  ; 
Enough  that  he  heard  it  once  :   we  shall  hear  it  by  and  by. 

Abt  Vogler,  R.  Browning. 

Some  hours  later,  as  Rogers  undressed  for  bed  in 
his  room  beneath  the  roof,  he  realised  abruptly  that 
the  time  had  come  for  him  to  leave.  The  weeks 
had  flown  ;  Minks  and  the  Scheme  required  him ; 
other  matters  needed  attention  too.  What  brought 
him  to  the  sudden  decision  was  the  fact  that  he  had 
done  for  the  moment  all  he  could  find  to  do,  begin- 
ning with  the  Pension  mortgages  and  ending  with  little 
Edouard  Tissot,  the  vigneron  s  boy  who  had  curva- 
ture of  the  spine  and  could  not  afford  proper 
treatment.  It  was  a  long  list.  He  was  far  from 
satisfied  with  results,  yet  he  had  done  his  best,  in 
spite  of  many  clumsy  mistakes.  In  the  autumn  he 
might  return  and  have  a  further  try.  Finances  were 
getting  muddled,  too,  and  he  realised  how  small  his 
capital  actually  was  when  the  needs  of  others  made 
claims  upon  it.  Neighbours  were  as  plentiful  as 
insects. 

He   had   made    all    manner    of   schemes    for    his 

327 


328        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

cousin's  family  as  well,  yet  seemed  to  have  accom- 
plished little.  Their  muddled  life  defied  disentangle- 
ment, their  difficulties  were  inextricable.  With  one 
son  at  a  costly  tutor,  another  girl  in  a  Geneva  school, 
the  younger  children  just  outgrowing  the  local  educa- 
tion, the  family's  mode  of  living  so  scattered,  meals 
in  one  place,  rooms  in  several  others, — it  was  all  too 
unmethodical  and  dispersed  to  be  covered  by  their 
small  uncertain  income.  Concentration  was  badly 
needed.  The  endless  talks  and  confabulations,  which 
have  not  been  reported  here  because  their  confusion 
was  interminable  and  unreportable,  landed  every  one 
in  a  mass  of  complicated  jumbles.  The  solution  lay 
beyond  his  power,  as  equally  beyond  the  powers  ot 
the  obfuscated  parents.  He  would  return  to  England, 
settle  his  own  affairs,  concoct  some  practical  scheme 
with  the  aid  of  Minks,  and  return  later  to  discuss  its 
working  out.      The  time  had  come  for  him  to  leave. 

And,  oddly  enough,  what  made  him  see  it  were 
things  the  children  had  said  that  very  evening  when 
he  kissed  them  all  good-night.  England  had  been 
mentioned. 

'  You're  here  for  always  now,'  whispered  Monkey, 
'  because  you  love  me  and  can't  get  away.  I've  tied 
you  with  my  hair,  you  know.' 

'  You'll  have  no  sekrity  in  London,'  said  Jimbo. 
'  Who'll  stick  your  stamps  on  ? ' 

'  The  place  will  seem  quite  empity  if  you  go,' 
Jane  Anne  contributed,  not  wishing  to  make  her 
contribution  too  personal,  lest  she  should  appear 
immodest.  *  You've  made  a  memorandum  of  agree- 
ment.' This  meant  he  had  promised  rashly  once  to 
stay  for  ever.  The  phrase  lent  an  official  tone 
besides. 

He  fell  asleep,  devising  wonderful  plans,  as  usual. 


xxiv        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        329 

for  the  entire  world,  not  merely  a  tiny  section  of  it. 
The  saviour  spirit  was  ever  in  his  heart.  It  failed 
to  realise  itself  because  the  mind  was  unequal  to  the 
strain  of  wise  construction  ;  but  it  was  there,  as 
the  old  vicar  had  divined.  He  had  that  indestruc- 
tible pity  to  which  no  living  thing  is  outcast. 

But  to-night  he  fell  asleep  so  slowly,  gradually, 
that  he  almost  watched  the  dissolving  of  conscious- 
ness in  himself.  He  hovered  a  long  time  about  the 
strange,  soft  frontiers.  He  saw  the  barriers  lower 
themselves  into  the  great  dim  plains.  Inch  by  inch 
the  outer  world  became  remote,  obscure,  lit  dubiously 
by  some  forgotten  sun,  and  inch  by  inch  the  profound 
recesses  of  nightly  adventure  coaxed  him  down.  He 
realised  that  he  swung  in  space  between  the  two. 
The  room  and  house  were  a  speck  in  the  universe 
above  him,  his  brain  the  mere  outlet  of  a  tunnel  up 
which  he  climbed  every  morning  to  put  his  horns 
out  like  a  snail,  and  sniff  the  outer  world.  Here,  in 
the  depths,  was  the  workroom  where  his  life  was 
fashioned.  Here  glowed  the  mighty,  hidden  furnaces 
that  shaped  his  tools.  Drifting,  glimmering  figures 
streamed  up  round  him  from  the  vast  under-world 
of  sleep,  called  unconscious.  'I  am  a  spirit/  he 
heard,  not  said  or  thought,  '  and  no  spirit  can  be 
unconscious  for  eight  hours  out  of  every  twenty- 
four  .  .   .  ! ' 

Slowly  the  sea  of  dreamless  sleep,  so-called,  flowed 
in  upon  him,  down,  round,  and  over  ;  it  submerged 
the  senses  one  by  one,  beginning  with  hearing  and 
ending  with  sight.  But,  as  each  physical  sense  was 
closed,  its  spiritual  counterpart  —  the  power  that 
exists  apart  from  its  limited  organ — opened  into 
clear,  divine  activity,  free  as  life  itself.   .   .   . 

How  ceaseless  was  this  movement  of  Dreams,  never 


33o        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

still,  always  changing  and  on  the  dance,  incessantly- 
renewing  itself  in  kaleidoscopic  patterns.  There  was 
perpetual  metamorphosis  and  rich  transformation  ; 
many  became  one,  one  many  ;  the  universe  was  a 
single  thing,  charged  with  stimulating  emotional 
shocks  as  each  scrap  of  interpretation  passed  in  and 
across  the  mind.   .   .   . 

He  was  falling  into  deeper  and  deeper  sleep,  into 
that  eternal  region  where  he  no  longer  thought,  but 
knew.  .  .  Immense  processions  of  shifting  imagery 
absorbed  him  into  themselves,  spontaneous,  unfamiliar, 
self-multiplying,  and  as  exquisitely  baffling  as  God 
and  all  His  angels.   .   .   . 

The  subsidence  of  the  external  world  seemed 
suddenly  complete. 

So  deeply  was  he  sunk  that  he  reached  that 
common  pool  of  fluid  essence  upon  which  all  minds 
draw  according  to  their  needs  and  powers.  Relations 
were  established,  wires  everywhere  connected.  The 
central  switchboard  clicked  all  round  him  ;  brains 
linked  with  brains,  asleep  or  not  asleep.  He  was  so 
deep  within  himself  that,  as  the  children  and  the 
Story  phrased  it,  he  was  '  out.'  The  air  grew  light 
and  radiant. 

'  Hooray  !  I'm  out  ! '  and  he  instantly  thought 
of  his  cousin. 

'  So  am  1  !  '  That  wumbled  author  shot  im- 
mediately into  connection  with  him.  'And  so  is 
Mother — for  the  first  time.  Come  on  :  we'll  all  go 
together.' 

It  was  unnecessary  to  specify  where,  for  that 
same  second  they  found  themselves  in  the  room 
of  Mile.  Lemaire.  At  this  hour  of  the  night  it  was 
usually  dark,  except  for  the  glimmer  of  the  low- 
turned   lamp   the  sufferer  never   quite  extinguished. 


xxiv        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        331 

From  dusk  till  dawn  her  windows  in  La  Citadelle 
shone  faintly  for  all  to  see  who  chanced  to  pass 
along  the  village  street.  '  There  she  lies,  poor 
aching  soul,  as  she  has  lain  for  twenty  years,  think- 
ing good  of  some  one,  or  maybe  praying  !  '  For 
the  glimmer  was  visible  from  very  far,  and  familiar 
as  a  lighthouse  to  wandering  ships  at  sea.  But,  had 
they  known  her  inner  happiness,  they  would  not 
have  said  '  poor  soul ! '  They  would  have  marvelled. 
In  a  Catholic  canton,  perhaps,  they  would  have 
crossed  themselves  and  prayed.  Just  now  they 
certainly  would  have  known  a  singular,  exalted  joy. 
Caught  in  fairyland,  they  would  have  wondered  and 
felt  happy. 

For  the  room  was  crowded  to  the  doors.  Walls, 
windows,  ceiling,  had  melted  into  transparency  to  let 
in  the  light  of  stars  ;  and,  caught  like  gold-fish  in 
the  great  network  of  the  rays,  shone  familiar  outlines 
everywhere — Jimbo,  Monkey,  Jinny,  the  Sweep,  the 
Tramp,  the  Gypsy,  the  Laugher  up  against  the  cup- 
board, the  Gardener  by  the  window  where  the 
flower-pots  stood,  the  Woman  of  the  Haystack  in 
the  corridor,  too  extensive  to  slip  across  the 
threshold,  and,  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  motion- 
less with  pleasure — Mother  ! 

'  Like  gorgeous  southern  butterflies  in  a  net,  I  do 
declare  ! '  gasped  Daddy,  as  he  swept  in  silently  with 
his  companion,  their  colours  mingling  harmoniously 
at  once  with  the  rest. 

And  Mother  turned. 

'  You're  out,  old  girl,  at  last  ! '  he  cried. 

'  God  bless  my  soul,  I  am  ! '  she  answered.  Their 
sentences  came  both  together,  and  their  blues  and 
yellows  swam  into  each  other  and  made  a  lovely 
green.      '  It's  what  I've  been  trying  to  do  all  these 


332 


A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 


years  without  knowing  it.  What  a  glory  !  I  under- 
stand now — understand  myself  and  you.  I  see  life 
clearly  as  a  whole.  Hooray,  hooray  ! '  She  glided 
nearer  to  him,  her  face  was  beaming. 

*  Mother's  going  to  explode,'  said  Monkey  in  a 
whisper.  But,  of  course,  everybody  *  heard  '  it  ;  for 
the  faintest  whisper  of  thought  sent  a  ripple  through 
that  sea  of  delicate  colour.  The  Laugher  bent 
behind  the  cupboard  to  hide  her  face,  and  the 
Gardener  by  the  window  stooped  to  examine  his 
flower-pots.  The  Woman  of  the  Haystack  drew 
back  a  little  into  the  corridor  again,  preparatory  to 
another  effort  to  squeeze  through.  But  Mother, 
regardless  of  them  all,  swam  on  towards  her  husband, 
wrapped  in  joy  and  light  as  in  a  garment.  Hitherto, 
in  her  body,  the  nearest  she  had  come  to  coruscating 
was  once  when  she  had  taken  a  course  of  sulphur 
baths.  This  was  a  very  different  matter.  She  fairly 
glittered. 

'  We'll  never  go  apart  again,'  Daddy  was  telling 
her.  '  This  inner  sympathy  will  last,  you  know. 
He  did  it.  It's  him  we  have  to  thank,'  and  he 
pointed  at  his  cousin.  '  It's  starlight,  of  course, 
he  has  brought  down  into  us.' 

But  Rogers  missed  the  compliment,  being  busy 
in  a  corner  with  Monkey  and  Jimbo,  playing  at 
mixing  colours  with  startling  results.  Mother  swam 
across  to  her  old  friend,  Mile.  Lemaire.  For  a 
quarter  of  a  century  these  two  had  understood  one 
another,  though  never  consciously  been  *  out '  to- 
gether. She  moved  like  a  frigate  still,  gliding  and 
stately,  but  a  frigate  that  has  snapped  its  hawsers 
and  meant  to  sail  the  skies. 

1  Our  poor,  stupid,  sleeping  old  bodies,'  she 
smiled. 


xxiv        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        333 

But  the  radiant  form  of  the  other  turned  to  her 
motionless  cage  upon  the  bed  behind  her.  '  Don't 
despise  them,'  she  replied,  looking  down  upon  the 
worn-out  prison-house,  while  a  little  dazzle  of 
brilliance  flashed  through  her  atmosphere.  'They 
are  our  means  of  spreading  this  starlight  about  the 
world  and  giving  it  to  others.  Our  brains  transmit 
it  cunningly  ;  it  flashes  from  our  eyes,  and  the  touch 
of  our  fingers  passes  it  on.  We  gather  it  here,  when 
we  are  "  out,"  but  we  can  communicate  it  best  to 
others  when  we  are  "  in."  ' 

There  was  sound  of  confusion  and  uproar  in  the 
room  behind  as  some  one  came  tumbling  in  with  a 
rush,  scattering  the  figures  in  all  directions  as  when  a 
gust  of  wind  descends  upon  a  bed  of  flowers. 

'  In  at  last ! '  cried  a  muffled  voice  that  sounded 
as  though  a  tarpaulin  smothered  it,  and  the  Woman 
of  the  Haystack  swept  into  the  room  with  a  kind  of 
clumsy  majesty.  The  Tramp  and  Gypsy,  whose 
efforts  had  at  length  dislodged  her  awkward  bulk, 
came  rolling  after.  They  had  been  pushing  steadily 
from  behind  all  this  time,  though  no  one  had  noticed 
them  slip  out. 

•  We  can  do  more  than  the  smaller  folk,'  she  said 
proudly,  sailing  up  to  Mother.  '  We  can't  be  over- 
looked, for  one  thing  '  ;  and  arm-in-arm,  like  a  pair  of 
frigates  then,  they  sailed  about  the  room,  magnificent 
as  whales  that  swim  in  a  phosphorescent  sea.  The 
Laugher  straightened  up  to  watch  them,  the  Gardener 
turned  his  head,  and  Rogers  and  the  children  paused 
a  moment  in  their  artificial  mixing,  to  stare  with 
wonder. 

'  I'm  in  ! '  said  the  Woman. 

'  I'm  out ! '  said  Mother. 

And  the  children  felt  a  trifle  envious.     Instantly 


334        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

their  brilliance  dimmed  a  little.  The  entire  room 
was  aware  of  it. 

'  Think  always  of  the  world  in  gold  and  silver,' 
shot  from  Mile.  Lemaire.  The  dimness  passed  as 
she  said  it. 

'  It  was  my  doing,'  laughed  Monkey,  turning 
round  to  acknowledge  her  wickedness  lest  some  one 
else  should  do  it  for  her  and  thus  increase  her 
shame. 

'  Sweep  !  Sweep  ! '  cried  Rogers. 

But  this  thought-created  sprite  was  there  before 
the  message  flashed.  With  his  sack  wide  open,  he 
stood  by  Monkey,  full  of  importance.  A  moment 
he  examined  her.  Then,  his  long  black  fingers 
darting  like  a  shuttle,  he  discovered  the  false 
colouring  that  envy  had  caused,  picked  it  neatly  out 
— a  thread  of  dirty  grey — and,  winding  it  into  a 
tiny  ball,  tossed  it  with  contempt  into  his  sack. 

*  Over  the  edge  of  the  world  you  go, 
With  the  mud  and  the  leaves  and  the  dirty  snow  !  * 

he  sang,  skipping  off  towards  the  door.  The  child's 
star-body  glowed  and  shone  again,  pulsing  all  over 
with  a  shimmering,  dancing  light  that  was  like 
moonshine  upon  running  water. 

'  Isn't  it  time  to  start  now  ? '  inquired  Jinny  ;  and 
as  she  said  it  all  turned  instinctively  towards  the 
corner  of  the  room  where  they  were  assembled. 
They  gathered  round  Mile.  Lemaire.  It  was  quite 
clear  who  was  leader  now.  The  crystal  brilliance 
of  her  whiteness  shone  like  a  little  oval  sun.  So 
sparkling  was  her  atmosphere,  that  its  purity  scarcely 
knew  a  hint  of  colour  even.  Her  stream  of  thought 
seemed  undiluted,  emitting  rays  in  all  directions  till 
it  resembled  a  wheel  of  sheer  white  fire.     The  others 


A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        335 

fluttered    round    her    as    lustrous    moths    about    an 
electric  light. 

'  Start  where  ? '  asked  Mother,  new  to  this  great 
adventure. 

Her  old  friend  looked  at  her,  so  that  she  caught 
a  darting  ray  full  in  the  face,  and  instantly  under- 
stood. 

'  First  to  the  Cave  to  load  up,'  flashed  the  answer ; 
'  and  then  over  the  sleeping  world  to  mix  the  light 
with  everybody's  dreams.  Then  back  again  before 
the  morning  spiders  are  abroad  with  the  interfering 
sun.' 

She  floated  out  into  the  corridor,  and  all  the 
others  fell  into  line  as  she  went.  The  draught  of  her 
going  drew  Mother  into  place  immediately  behind 
her.  Daddy  followed  close,  their  respective  colours 
making  it  inevitable,  and  Jinny  swept  in  after  him, 
bright  and  eager  as  a  little  angel.  She  tripped  on 
the  edge  of  something  he  held  tightly  in  one  hand, 
a  woven  maze  of  tiny  glittering  lines,  exquisitely 
inter-threaded — a  skeleton  of  beauty,  waiting  to  be 
filled  in  and  clothed,  yet  already  alive  with  spontaneous 
fire  of  its  own.  It  was  the  Pattern  of  his  story  he 
had  been  busy  with  in  the  corner. 

'  I  won't  step  on  it,  Daddy,'  she  said  gravely. 

*  It  doesn't  matter  if  you  do.  You're  in  it,'  he 
answered,  yet  lifted  it  higher  so  that  it  flew  behind 
him  like  a  banner  in  the  night. 

The  procession  was  formed  now.  Rogers  and 
the  younger  children  came  after  their  sister  at  a  little 
distance,  and  then,  flitting  to  and  fro  in  darker 
shades,  like  a  fringe  of  rich  embroidery  that  framed 
the  moving  picture,  came  the  figures  of  the  sprites, 
born  by  Imagination  out  of  Love  in  an  old  Kentish 
garden  years   and  years  ago.     They  rose  from  the 


336        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

tangle  of  the  ancient  building.  Climbing  the 
shoulder  of  a  big,  blue  wind,  they  were  off  and 
away  ! 

It  was  a  jolly  night,  a  windy  night,  a  night 
without  clouds,  when  all  the  lanes  of  the  sky  were 
smooth  and  swept,  and  the  interstellar  spaces  seemed 
close  down  upon  the  earth. 

'  Kind  thoughts,  like  fine  weather, 
Link  sweetly  together  God's  stars 
With  the  heart  of  a  boy,' 

sang  Rogers,  following  swiftly  with  Jimbo  and  his 
sister.  For  all  moved  along  as  easily  as  light  across 
the  surfaces  of  polished  glass.  And  the  sound  of 
Rogers's  voice  seemed  to  bring  singing  from  every 
side,  as  the  gay  procession  swept  onwards.  Every  one 
contributed  lines  of  their  own,  it  seemed,  though 
there  was  a  tiny  little  distant  voice,  soft  and  silvery, 
that  intruded  from  time  to  time  and  made  all  wonder 
where  it  came  from.  No  one  could  see  the  singer. 
At  first  very  far  away,  it  came  nearer  and  nearer. 

Daddy.  *  The  Interfering  Sun  has  set  ! 

Gardener.  Now  Sirius  flings  down  the  Net  ! 

Lamplighter.  See,  the  meshes  flash  and  quiver, 

As  the  golden,  silent  river 
Sweep.  Clears  the  dark  world's  troubled  dream. 

Dustman.  Takes  it  sleeping, 

Gilds  its  weeping 
With  a  star's  mysterious  beam. 

Tiny,  distant  Voice.  Oh,  think  Beauty  ! 

It's  your  duty  ! 
In  the  Cave  you  work  for  others, 
All  the  stars  are  little  brothers  ; 
Rogers.  Think  their  splendour, 

Strong  and  tender  ; 
Daddy.  Think  their  glory 

In  the  Story 
Mother.  Of  each  day  your  nights  redeem  ? 


xxiv        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND 


337 


Voice  (nearer). 

Jane  Anne. 
Monkey. 
"Jim  bo. 
Tante  Anna. 
Tramp  and  Gypsy. 


Woman  of  the  Hay- 
stack. 

Voice  (still  nearer). 

•Rogers. 

Voice  (quite  close). 

Rogers. 

Voice  (in  his  ear). 


Every  loving,  gentle  thought 

Of  this  fairy  brilliance  wrought, 

Every  wish  that  you  surrender, 
Every  little  impulse  tender, 
Every  service  that  you  render 

Brings  its  tributary  stream  ! 
In  the  fretwork 
Of  the  network 

Hearts  lie  patterned  and  a-gleam  ! 

Think  with  passion 

That  shall  fashion 
Life's  entire  design  well-planned  ; 

While  the  busy  Pleiades, 

Sisters  to  the  Hyades, 

Seven  by  seven, 

Across  the  heaven, 

Light  desire 

With  their  fire  ! 
Working  cunningly  together   in   a   soft  and 
tireless  band, 

Sweetly  linking 

All  our  thinking, 
In  the  Net  of  Sympathy  that   brings  back 
Fairyland  !  ' 

Mother  kept  close  to  her  husband  ;  she  felt  a 
little  bewildered,  and  uncertain  in  her  movements  ; 
it  was  her  first  conscious  experience  of  being  out. 
She  wanted  to  go  in  every  direction  at  once  ;  for  she 
knew  everybody  in  the  village,  knew  all  their 
troubles  and  perplexities,  and  felt  the  call  from  every 
house. 

1  Steady,'  he  told  her  ;  '  one  thing  at  a  time,  you 
know.'  Her  thoughts,  he  saw,  had  turned  across  the 
sea  to  Ireland  where  her  strongest  ties  were.  Ireland 
seemed  close,  and  quite  as  accessible  as  the  village. 
Her  friend  of  the  Haystack,  on  the  other  hand, 
seemed  a  long  way  off  by  comparison. 

'  That's     because     Henry     never     realised     her 

z 


338        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

personality  very  clearly,'  said  Daddy,  seeing  by  her 
colour  that  she  needed  explanation.  '  When  creating 
all  these  Garden  Sprites,  he  didn't  think  her  sharply, 
vividly  enough  to  make  her  effective.  He  just  felt 
that  a  haystack  suggested  the  elderly  spread  of  a 
bulky  and  untidy  old  woman  whose  frame  had  settled 
beneath  too  many  clothes,  till  she  had  collapsed  into 
a  field  and  stuck  there.  But  he  left  her  where  he 
found  her.  He  assigned  no  duties  to  her.  She's 
only  half  alive.  As  a  rule,  she  merely  sits — just 
"  stays  put  " — until  some  one  moves  her.' 

Mother  turned  and  saw  her  far  in  the  rear,  settling 
down  comfortably  upon  a  flat  roof  near  the  church. 
She  rather  envied  her  amiable  disposition.  It  seemed 
so  safe.  Every  one  else  was  alive  with  such  dangerous 
activity. 

c  Are  we  going  much  further ? '    she  began, 

when  Monkey  rushed  by,  caught  up  the  sentence, 
and  discharged  herself  with  impudence  into  Daddy. 

'  Which  is  right,  "  further  "  or  "  farther  "  ?  '  she 
asked  with  a  flash  of  light. 

'  Further,  of  course,'  said  unsuspecting  Mother. 

*  But  "  further  "  sounds  "  farther,"  she  cried,  with 
a  burst  of  laughter  that  died  away  with  her  passage 
of  meteoric  brilliance — into  the  body  of  the  woods 
beyond. 

'  But  the  other  Sprites,  you  see,  are  real  and 
active,'  continued  Daddy,  ignoring  the  interruption 
as  though  accustomed  to  it,  because  he  thought  out 
clearly  every  detail.  '  They're  alive  enough  to  haunt 
a  house  or  garden  till  sensitive  people  become  aware 
of  them  and  declare  they've  seen  a  ghost.' 

'  And  we?.  '  she  asked.  '  Who  thought  us  out  so 
wonderfully? ' 

'  That's  more  than  I  can  tell,'  he  answered  after  a 


xxiv        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        339 

little  pause.  *  God  knows  that,  for  He  thought  out 
the  entire  universe  to  which  we  belong.  I  only 
know  that  we're  real,  and  all  part  of  the  same  huge, 
single  thing.'  He  shone  with  increased  brightness 
as  he  said  it.  '  There's  no  question  about  our  person- 
alities and  duties  and  the  rest.  Don't  you  feel  it 
too  ? ' 

He  looked  at  her  as  he  spoke.  Her  outline  had 
grown  more  definite.  As  she  began  to  understand, 
and  her  bewilderment  lessened,  he  noted  that  her 
flashing  lines  burned  more  steadily,  falling  into  a 
more  regular,  harmonious  pattern.  They  combined, 
moreover,  with  his  own,  and  with  the  starlight  too, 
in  some  exquisite  fashion  he  could  not  describe.  She 
put  a  hand  out,  catching  at  the  flying  banner  of  his 
Story  that  he  trailed  behind  him  in  the  air.  They 
formed  a  single  design,  all  three.  His  happiness 
became  enormous. 

1 1  feel  joined  on  to  everything,'  she  replied,  half 
singing  it  in  her  joy.  'I  feel  tucked  into  the  uni- 
verse everywhere,  and  into  you,  dear.  These  rays  of 
starlight  have  sewn  us  together.'  She  began  to 
tremble,  but  it  was  the  trembling  of  pure  joy  and 
not  of  alarm.   .   .   . 

1  Yes,'  he  said,  *  I'm  learning  it  too.  The  moment 
thought  gets  away  from  self  it  lets  in  starlight  and 
makes  room  for  happiness.  To  think  with  sym- 
pathy of  others  is  to  grow  :  you  take  in  their 
experience  and  add  it  to  your  own — development  ; 
the  heart  gets  soft  and  deep  and  wide  till  you  feel 
the  entire  universe  buttoning  its  jacket  round  you. 
To  think  of  self  means  friction  and  hence  reduction.' 

4  And  your  Story,'  she  added,  glancing  up  proudly 
at  the  banner  that  they  trailed.  '  I  have  helped  a 
little,  haven't  I  ? ' 


340        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

*  It's  nearly  finished,'  he  flashed  back  ;  '  you've 
been  its  inspiration  and  its  climax.  All  these  years, 
when  we  thought  ourselves  apart,  you've  been  helping 
really  underground — that's  true  collaboration.' 

'  Our  little  separation  was  but  a  reculer  pour  mieux 
sauter.     See  how  we've  rushed  together  again  ! ' 

A  strange  soft  singing,  like  the  wind  in  firs, 
or  like  shallow  water  flowing  over  pebbles,  inter- 
rupted them.  The  sweetness  of  it  turned  the  night 
alive. 

( Come  on,  old  Mother.  Our  Leader  is  calling 
to  us.     We  must  work.' 

They  slid  from  the  blue  wind  into  a  current  of 
paler  air  that  happened  to  slip  swiftly  past  them,  and 
went  towards  the  forest  where  Mile.  Lemaire  waited 
for  them.  Mother  waved  her  hand  to  her  friend, 
settled  comfortably  upon  the  flat  roof  in  the  village 
in  their  rear.  '  We'll  come  back  to  lean  upon  you 
when  we're  tired,'  she  signalled.  But  she  felt  no 
envy  now.  In  future  she  would  certainly  never 
'  stay  put.'  Work  beckoned  to  her — and  such  end- 
less, glorious  work  :  the  whole  Universe. 

'  What  life  !  What  a  rush  of  splendour  !  *  she 
exclaimed  as  they  reached  the  great  woods  and  heard 
them  shouting  below  in  the  winds.  '  I  see  now  why 
the  forest  always  comforted  me.  There's  strength 
here  I  can  take  back  into  my  body  with  me  when 

1  g°"'  .  .  . 

'  The  trees,  yes,  express  visibly  only  a  portion  or 

their  life,'  he  told  her.     '  There  is  an  overflow  we  can 
appropriate.' 

Yet  their  conversation  was  never  audibly  uttered. 
It  flashed  instantaneously  from  one  to  the  other. 
All  they  had  exchanged  since  leaving  La  Citadelle 
had    taken    place    at    once,   it   seemed.    They   were 


xxiv        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        341 

awake  in  the  region  of  naked  thought  and  feeling. 
The  dictum  of  the  materialists  that  thought  and 
feeling  cannot  exist  apart  from  matter  did  not 
trouble  them.  Matter,  they  saw,  was  everywhere, 
though  too  tenuous  for  any  measuring  instrument 
man's  brain  had  yet  invented. 

4  Come  on  !  '  he  repeated  ;  '  the  Starlight  Express 
is  waiting.  It  will  take  you  anywhere  you  please — 
Ireland  if  you  like  !  ' 

They  found  the  others  waiting  on  the  smooth 
layer  of  soft  purple  air  that  spread  just  below  the 
level  of  the  tree-tops.  The  crests  themselves  tossed 
wildly  in  the  wind,  but  at  a  depth  of  a  few  feet 
there  was  peace  and  stillness,  and  upon  this  platform 
the  band  was  grouped.  *  The  stars  are  caught  in  the 
branches  to-night,'  a  sensitive  walker  on  the  ground 
might  have  exclaimed.  The  spires  rose  about  them 
like  little  garden  trees  of  a  few  years'  growth,  and 
between  them  ran  lanes  and  intricate,  winding 
thoroughfares  Mother  saw  long,  dark  things  like 
thick  bodies  of  snakes  converging  down  these 
passage-ways,  filling  them,  all  running  towards  the 
centre  where  the  group  had  established  itself.  There 
were  lines  of  dotted  lights  along  them.  They  did 
not  move  with  the  waving  of  the  tree-tops.  They 
looked  uncommonly  familiar. 

'  The  trains,'  Jimbo  was  crying.  He  darted  to 
and  fro,  superintending  the  embarking  of  the 
passengers. 

All  the  sidings  of  the  sky  were  full  of  Starlight 
Expresses. 

The  loading-up  was  so  quickly  accomplished  that 
Mother  hardly  realised  what  was  happening.  Every- 
body carried  sacks  overflowing  with  dripping  gold 
and  bursting  at  the  seams.     As  each  train  filled,  it 


342        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

shot  away  across  the  starry  heavens  ;  for  everyone 
had  been  to  the  Cave  and  gathered  their  material 
even  before  she  reached  the  scene  of  action.  And 
with  every  train  went  a  mecanicien  and  a  con- 
ducteur  created  by  Jimbo's  vivid  and  believing 
thought ;  a  Sweep,  a  Lamplighter,  and  a  Head 
Gardener  went,  too,  for  the  children's  thinking  multi- 
plied these,  too,  according  to  their  needs.  They 
realised  the  meaning  of  these  Sprites  so  clearly  now 
— their  duties,  appearance,  laws  of  behaviour,  and 
the  rest — that  their  awakened  imaginations  thought 
them  instantly  into  existence,  as  many  as  were  neces- 
sary. Train  after  train,  each  with  its  full  comple- 
ment of  passengers,  flashed  forth  across  that  summer 
sky,  till  the  people  in  the  Observatories  must  have 
thought  they  had  miscalculated  strangely  and  the 
Earth  was  passing  amid  the  showering  Leonids 
before  her  appointed  time. 

'  Where  would  you  like  to  go  first  ?  '  Mother 
heard  her  friend  ask  softly.  '  It's  not  possible  to 
follow  all  the  trains  at  once,  you  know.' 

'  So  I  see,'  she  gasped.  '  I'll  just  sit  still  a 
moment,  and  think.' 

The  size  and  freedom  of  existence,  as  she  now 
saw  it,  suddenly  overwhelmed  her.  Accustomed  too 
long  to  narrow  channels,  she  found  space  without 
railings  and  notice-boards  bewildering.  She  had 
never  dreamed  before  that  thinking  can  open  the 
gates  of  heaven  and  bring  the  Milky  Way  down 
into  the  heart.  She  had  merely  knitted  stockings. 
She  had  been  practical.  At  last  the  key  to  her 
husband's  being  was  in  her  hand.  That  key  at  the 
same  time  opened  a  door  through  him,  into  her  own. 
Hitherto  she  had  merely  criticised.  Oh  dear ! 
Criticism,  when  she  might  have  created  1 


xxiv        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        343 

She  turned  to  seek  him.  But  only  her  old  friend 
was  there,  floating  beside  her  in  a  brilliant  mist  of 
gold  and  white  that  turned  the  tree-tops  into  rows  of 
Burning  Bushes. 

'  Where  is  he  ? '  she  asked  quickly. 

1  Hush  !  '  was  the  instant  reply  ;  *  don't  disturb 
him.  Don't  think,  or  you'll  bring  him  back.  He's 
filling  his  sack  in  the  Star  Cave.  Men  have  to 
gather  it, — the  little  store  they  possess  is  soon 
crystallised  into  hardness  by  Reason, — but  women 
have  enough  in  themselves  usually  to  last  a  lifetime. 
They  are  born  with  it.' 

'  Mine  crystallised  long  ago,  I  fear.' 

'  Care  and  anxiety  did  that.  You  neglected  it  a 
little.  But  your  husband's  cousin  has  cleaned  the 
channels  out.  He  does  it  unconsciously,  but  he  does 
it.  He  has  belief  and  vision  like  a  child,  and  there- 
fore turns  instinctively  to  children  because  they  keep 
it  alive  in  him,  though  he  hardly  knows  why  he  seeks 
them.  The  world,  too,  is  a  great  big  child  that  is 
crying  for  its  Fairyland.   .  .   .' 

c  But  the  practical '  objected  Mother,  true  to 

her  type  of  mind — an  echo  rather  than  an  effort. 

' is  important,  yes,  only  it  has  been  exagger- 
ated out  of  all  sane  proportion  in  most  people's  lives. 
So  little  is  needed,  though  that  little  of  fine  quality, 
and  ever  fed  by  starlight.  Obeyed  exclusively,  it 
destroys  life.  It  bricks  you  up  alive.  But  now  tell 
me,'  she  added,  '  where  would  you  like  to  go  first  ? 
Whom  will  you  help  ?  There  is  time  enough  to  cover 
the  world  if  you  want  to,  before  the  interfering  sun 
gets  up.' 

'  You  ! '  cried  Mother,  impulsively,  then  realised 
instantly  that  her  friend  was  already  developed  far 
beyond   any  help  that  she  could  give.     It  was  the 


344        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

light  streaming  from  the  older,  suffering  woman  that 
was  stimulating  her  own  sympathies  so  vehemently. 
For  years  the  process  had  gone  on.  It  was  at  last 
effective. 

'  There  are  others,  perhaps,  who  need  it  more  than 
I,   flashed  forth  a  lovely  ray. 

'  But  I  would  repay,'  Mother  cried  eagerly,  '  I 
would  repay.'  Gratitude  for  life  rushed  through  her, 
and  her  friend  must  share  it. 

'Pass  it  on  to  others,'  was  the  shining  answer. 
'That's  the  best  repayment  after  all.'  The  stars 
themselves  turned  brighter  as  the  thought  flashed 
from  her. 

Then  Ireland  vanished  utterly,  for  it  had  been 
mixed,  Mother  now  perceived,  with  personal  longings 
that  were  at  bottom  selfish.  There  were  indeed 
many  there,  in  the  scenes  of  her  home  and  childhood, 
whose  lives  she  might  ease  and  glorify  by  letting  in 
the  starlight  while  they  slept ;  but  her  motive,  she 
discerned,  was  not  wholly  pure.  There  was  a  trace 
in  it,  almost  a  little  stain,  of  personal  gratification- — 
she  could  not  analyse  it  quite — that  dimmed  the 
picture  in  her  thought.  The  brilliance  of  her  com- 
panion made  it  stand  out  clearly.  Nearer  home 
was  a  less  heroic  object,  a  more  difficult  case,  some 
one  less  likely  to  reward  her  efforts  with  results. 
And  she  turned  instead  to  this. 

'You're  right,'  smiled  the  other,  following  her 
thought ;  f  and  you  couldn't  begin  with  a  better  bit 
of  work  than  that.  Your  old  mother  has  cut  her- 
self off  so  long  from  giving  sympathy  to  her  kind 
that  now  she  cannot  accept  it  from  others  without 
feeling  suspicion  and  distrust.  Ease  and  soften  her 
outlook  if  you  can.  Pour  through  her  gloom  the 
sympathy  of  stars.     And  remember,'  she  added,  as 


xxiv        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        345 

Mother  rose  softly  out  of  the  trees  and  hovered  a 
moment  overhead,  '  that  if  you  need  the  Sweep  or 
the  Lamplighter,  or  the  Gardener  to  burn  away  her 
dead  leaves,  you  have  only  to  summon  them.  Think 
hard,  and  they'll  be  instantly  beside  you.' 

Upon  an  eddy  of  glowing  wind  Mother  drifted 
across  the  fields  to  the  corner  of  the  village  where 
her  mother  occupied  a  large  single  room  in  solitude 
upon  the  top  floor,  a  solitude  self-imposed  and  rigor- 
ously enforced. 

•  Use  the  finest  quality,'  she  heard  her  friend 
thinking  far  behind  her,  '  for  you  have  plenty  of  it. 
The  Dustman  gave  it  to  you  when  you  were  not 
looking,  gathered  from  the  entire  Zodiac  .  .  .  and 
from  the  careless  meteor's  track.   .   .   .' 

The  words  died  off  into  the  forest. 

*  That  he  keeps  only 
For  the  old  and  lonely, 
(And  is  very  strict  about  it) 
Who  sleep  so  little  that  they  need  the  best ' 


The  words  came  floating  behind  her.  She  felt  her- 
self brimful — charged  with  loving  sympathy  of  the 
sweetest  and  most  understanding  quality.  She  looked 
down  a  moment  upon  her  mother's  roof.  Then  she 
descended. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

And  also  there's  a  little  star — - 

So  white,  a  virgin's  it  must  be  ;— 
Perhaps  the  lamp  my  love  in  heaven 

Hangs  out  to  light  the  way  for  me. 

Song,  Theophile   Marzials. 

In  this  corner  of  Bourcelles  the  houses  lie  huddled 
together  with  an  air  of  something  shamefaced  ;  they 
dare  not  look  straight  at  the  mountains  or  at  the 
lake  ;  they  turn  their  eyes  away  even  from  the 
orchards  at  the  back.  They  wear  a  mysterious  and 
secret  look,  and  their  shoulders  have  a  sly  turn,  as 
though  they  hid  their  heads  in  the  daytime  and 
stirred  about  their  business  only  after  dark. 

They  lie  grouped  about  a  cobbled  courtyard  that 
has  no  fountain  in  it.  The  fair  white  road  goes 
quickly  by  outside,  afraid  to  look  in  frankly  ;  and 
the  entrance  to  the  yard  is  narrow.  Nor  does  a 
single  tree  grow  in  it.  If  Bourcelles  could  have  a 
slum,  this  would  be  it. 

Why  the  old  lady  had  left  her  cosy  quarters  in 
Les  Glycines  and  settled  down  in  this  unpleasant 
corner  of  the  village  was  a  puzzle  to  everybody. 
With  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  the  problem  was  gener- 
allv  left  unsolved.  Madame  Jequier  discussed  it 
volubly  a  year  ago  when  the  move  took  place,  then 
dismissed  it  as  one  of  those  mysteries  of  old  people 
no  one  can  understand.      To  the  son-in-law  and  the 

346 


ch.  xxv    A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       347 

daughter,  who  got  nearer  the  truth,  it  was  a  source  of 
pain  and  sadness  beyond  their  means  of  relief.  Mrs. 
'  Plume  ' — it  was  a  play  in  French  upon  her  real  name, 
— had  been  four  years  in  the  Pension,  induced  to 
come  from  a  lonely  existence  in  Ireland  by  her 
daughter  and  throw  in  her  lot  with  the  family,  and 
at  first  had  settled  down  comfortably  enough.  She 
was  over  seventy,  and  possessed^ 80  a  year — a  dainty, 
witty,  amusing  Irish  lady,  with  twinkling  eyes  and  a 
pernicketty  strong  will,  and  a  brogue  she  transferred 
deliciously  into  her  broken  French.  She  loved  the 
children,  yet  did  not  win  their  love  in  return,  because 
they  stood  in  awe  of  her  sarcastic  criticisms.  Life 
had  gone  hardly  with  her  ;  she  had  lost  her  fortune 
and  her  children,  all  but  this  daughter,  with  whose 
marriage  she  was  keenly  disappointed.  An  aristocrat 
to  the  finger-tips,  she  could  not  accept  the  change  of 
circumstances  ;  distress  had  soured  her  ;  the  trans- 
planting hastened  her  decline  ;  there  was  no  sweet- 
ness left  in  her.  She  turned  her  heart  steadily  against 
the  world. 

The  ostensible  cause  of  this  hiding  herself  away 
with  her  sorrow  and  disappointment  was  the  presence 
of  Miss  Waghorn,  with  whom  she  disagreed,  and 
even  quarrelled,  from  morning  till  night.  They  formed 
a  storm-centre  that  moved  from  salon  to  dining- 
room,  and  they  squabbled  acutely  about  everything 
— the  weather,  the  heating,  the  opening  or  shutting 
of  windows,  the  details  of  the  food,  the  arrangement 
of  the  furniture,  even  the  character  of  the  cat  Miss 
Waghorn  loved.  The  bickerings  were  incessant.  They 
only  had  to  meet  for  hot  disagreement  to  break  out. 
Mrs.  Plume,  already  bent  with  age,  would  strike  the 
floor  with  the  ebony  stick  she  always  carried,  and 
glare  at   the  erect,  defiant  spinster — '  That  horrud, 


348        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

dirrty  cat  ;  its  always  in  the  room  ! '  Then  Miss 
Waghorn  :  '  It's  a  very  nice  cat,  Madame' — she  always 
called  her  Madame — '  and  when  I  was  a  young  girl 
I  was  taught  to  be  kind  to  animals.' — *  The  drawing- 
room  is  not  the  place  for  animals,'  came  the  pricking 
answer.     And  then  the  scuffle  began  in  earnest. 

Miss  Waghorn,  owing  to  her  want  of  memory, 
forgot  the  squabble  five  minutes  afterwards,  and 
even  forgot  that  she  knew  her  antagonist  at  all.  She 
would  ask  to  be  introduced,  or  even  come  up  sweetly 
and  introduce  herself  within  half  an  hour  of  the 
battle.  But  Madame  Plume  forgot  nothing  ;  her 
memory  was  keen  and  accurate.  She  did  not  believe 
in  the  other's  failing.  *  That  common  old  woman  ! ' 
she  exclaimed  with  angry  scorn  to  her  daughter. 
'  It's  deliberate  ofFensiveness,  that's  all  it  is  at  all  ! ' 
And  she  left  the  Pension. 

But  her  attitude  to  the  harmless  old  Quaker  lady 
was  really  in  small  her  attitude  to  humanity  at  large. 
She  drew  away  in  disgust  from  a  world  that  had 
treated  her  so  badly.  Into  herself  she  drew,  growing 
smaller  every  day,  more  sour,  more  suspicious,  and 
more  averse  to  her  own  kind.  Within  the  restricted 
orbit  of  her  own  bitter  thoughts  she  revolved  towards 
the  vanishing  point  of  life  which  is  the  total  loss  of 
sympathy.  She  felt  with  no  one  but  herself.  She 
belonged  to  that,  alas,  numerous  type  which,  with 
large  expectations  unrealised,  cannot  accept  disillu- 
sionment with  the  gentle  laughter  it  deserves.  She 
resented  the  universe.     Sympathy  was  dead. 

And  she  had  chosen  this  unsavoury  corner  to 
dwell  in  because  '  the  poor  '  of  the  village  lived  there, 
and  she  wished  to  count  herself  among  them.  It 
emphasised  the  spite,  the  grudge,  she  felt  against 
humanity.    At  first  she  came  into  dejeuner  and  souper, 


xxv         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        349 

but  afterwards  her  meals  were  sent  over  twice  a  day 
from  the  Pension.  She  discovered  so  many  reasons 
for  not  making  the  little  journey  of  a  hundred  yards. 
On  Sunday  the  '  common  people  '  were  in  the  streets ; 
on  Saturday  it  was  cleaning-day  and  the  Pension 
smelt  of  turpentine  ;  Monday  was  for  letter-writing, 
and  other  days  were  too  hot  or  too  cold,  too  windy 
or  too  wet-  In  the  end  she  accomplished  her  heart's 
desire.  Madame  Cornu,  who  kept  the  grocer's  shop, 
and  lived  on  the  floor  below  with  her  husband,  pre- 
pared the  two  principal  meals  and  brought  them  up 
to  her  on  a  tray.  She  ate  them  alone.  Her  break- 
fast cup  of  tea  she  made  herself,  Mme.  Cornu  putting 
the  jug  of  milk  outside  the  door.  She  nursed  her 
bitter  grievance  against  life  in  utter  solitude.  Acidity 
ate  its  ugly  pattern  into  her  heart. 

The  children,  as  in  duty  bound,  made  dolorous 
pilgrimages  to  that  upper  floor  from  time  to  time, 
returning  frightened,  and  Mother  went  regularly 
twice  a  week,  coming  home  saddened  and  distressed. 
Her  husband  rarely  went  at  all  now,  since  the  time 
when  she  told  him  to  his  face  he  came  to  taunt  her. 
She  spent  her  time,  heaven  only  knows  how,  for  she 
never  left  the  building.  According  to  Mother  she 
was  exceedingly  busy  doing  nothing.  She  packed,  un- 
packed, and  then  repacked  all  her  few  belongings. 
In  summer  she  chased  bees  in  her  room  with  a  wet 
towel ;  but  with  venom,  not  with  humour.  The 
Morning  Post  came  daily  from  London.  '  I  read  my 
paper,  write  a  letter,  and  the  morning's  gone,'  she 
told  her  daughter,  by  way  of  complaint  that  time  was 
so  scanty.  Mme.  Cornu  often  heard  her  walking  up 
and  down  the  floor,  tapping  her  ebony  stick  and 
talking  softly  to  herself.  Yet  she  was  as  sane  as  any 
old  body  living  in  solitude  with  evil  thinking  well 


350        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap, 

can  be.  She  starved — because  she  neither  gave  nor 
asked. 

As  Mother  thought  of  her,  thus  finding  the  way 
in  instantly,  the  church  clock,  sounded  midnight. 
She  entered  a  room  that  was  black  as  coal  and  un- 
sweetened as  an  airless  cellar.  The  fair  rays  that  had 
been  pouring  out  of  her  returned  with  a  little  shock 
upon  themselves — repulsed.  She  felt  herself  reduced, 
and  the  sensation  was  so  unpleasant  at  first  that  she 
almost  gasped.  It  was  like  suffocation.  She  felt 
enclosed  with  Death.  That  her  own  radiance  dimmed 
a  moment  was  undeniable,  but  it  was  for  a  moment 
only,  for,  thinking  instantly  of  her  friend,  she  drew 
upon  that  woman's  inexhaustible  abundance,  and 
found  her  own  stores  replenished. 

Slowly,  as  a  wintry  sun  pierces  the  mist  in  some 
damp  hollow  of  the  woods,  her  supply  of  starlight 
lit  up  little  pathways  all  about  her,  and  she  saw  the 
familiar  figure  standing  by  the  window.  The  figure 
was  also  black  ;  it  stood  like  an  ebony  statue  in  an 
atmosphere  that  was  thick  with  gloom,  turgid,  sinister, 
and  wholly  ray  less.  It  was  like  a  lantern  in  a  London 
fog.  A  few  dim  lines  of  sombre  grey  issued  heavily 
from  it,  but  got  no  farther  than  its  outer  surface, 
then  doubled  back  and  plunged  in  again.  They 
coiled  and  twisted  into  ugly  knots.  Her  mother's 
atmosphere  was  opaque,  and  as  dismal  as  a  November 
fog.  There  was  a  speck  of  light  in  the  room,  how- 
ever, and  it  came,  the  visitor  then  perceived,  from  a 
single  candle  that  stood  beside  the  bed.  The  old 
lady  had  been  reading  ;  she  rarely  slept  before  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning. 

And  at  first,  so  disheartening,  so  hopeless  seemed 
the  task,  that  Mother  wavered  in  her  mission  ;  a 
choking,  suffocating  sensation  blocked  all  her  channels 


xxv        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        351 

of  delivery.  The  very  flowers  on  the  window-sill, 
she  noted,  drooped  in  a  languishing  decline  ;  they 
had  a  lifeless  air  as  of  flowers  that  struggle  for  exist- 
ence in  deep  shadow  and  have  never  known  the  kiss 
of  sunshine.  Through  the  inch  of  opened  window 
stole  a  soft  breath  of  the  night  air,  but  it  turned 
black  and  sluggish  the  moment  it  came  in.  And 
just  then,  as  Mother  hovered  there  in  hesitating 
doubt,  the  figure  turned  and  moved  across  to  the  bed, 
supporting  herself  with  the  ebony  cane  she  always 
used.  Stiffly  she  sank  upon  her  knees.  The  habit 
was  as  strong  as  putting  her  shoes  outside  the  door  at 
night  to  be  cleaned, — those  shoes  that  never  knew  the 
stain  of  roadway  dust — and  equally  devoid  of  spiritual 
significance.  Yet,  for  a  moment,  as  the  embittered 
mind  gabbled  through  the  string  of  words  that  long 
habit  had  crystallised  into  an  empty  formula,  Mother 
noticed  that  the  lines  of  grey  grew  slightly  clearer  ; 
the  coil  and  tangle  ceased  ;  they  even  made  an  effort 
to  emerge  and  leave  the  muddy  cloud  that  obscured 
their  knotted,  intricate  disorder. 

The  formula  Mother  recognised  ;  it  had  hardly 
changed,  indeed,  since  she  herself  had  learned  it  at 
those  very  knees  when  days  were  brighter  ;  it  began 
with  wholesale  and  audacious  requests  for  self,  then 
towards  the  end  passed  into  vague  generalities  for 
the  welfare  of  others.  And  just  here  it  was  that  the 
lines  of  grey  turned  brighter  and  tried  to  struggle  out 
of  the  murky  atmosphere.  The  sight  was  pathetic, 
yet  deeply  significant.  Mother  understood  its  mean- 
ing. There  was  hope.  Behind  the  prayer  for  others 
still  shone  at  least  an  echo  of  past  meaning. 

'  I  believe  in  you,  old,  broken,  disappointed  heart,' 
flashed  through  her  own  bright  atmosphere,  '  and, 
believing,  I  can  help  you  1 ' 


352        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

Her  skill,  however,  was  slight,  owing  to  lack  of 
practice  and  experience.  She  moved  over  to  the 
bed,  trying  first  to  force  her  own  darting  rays  into 
the  opaque,  dull  cloud  surrounding  the  other  ;  then 
seeking  a  better  way — for  this  had  no  results — she 
slipped  somehow  inside  the  mist,  getting  behind  it, 
down  at  the  very  source.  From  here  she  forced  her 
own  light  through,  mixing  her  beams  of  coloured 
radiance  with  the  thick  grey  lines  themselves.  She 
tried  to  feel  and  think  as  her  mother  felt  and  thought, 
moving  beside  her  mind's  initial  working,  changing 
the  gloom  into  something  brighter  as  she  moved 
along.  This  was  the  proper  way,  she  felt — to  clean 
the  source  itself,  rather  than  merely  untie  knots  at 
the  outer  surface.  It  was  a  stifling  business,  but  she 
persisted.  Tiny  channels  cleared  and  opened.  A  little 
light  shone  through.  She  felt-with  her  mother, 
instead  of  arguing,  as  it  were.   .  .  . 

The  old  lady  presently  blew  the  candle  out  and 
composed  herself  to  sleep.     Mother  laboured  on.  .  .  . 

*  Oh  dear,'  she  sighed,  *  oh  dear  ! '  as  she  emerged 
from  the  gloom  a  moment  to  survey  her  patient  and 
note  results.  To  her  amazement  she  saw  that  there 
was  a  change  indeed,  though  a  very  curious  one. 
The  entire  outer  surface  of  the  cloud  seemed  in 
commotion,  with  here  and  there  a  glimmering  lustre 
as  if  a  tiny  lamp  was  at  last  alight  within.  She  felt 
herself  swell  with  happiness.  Instantly,  then,  the  grey 
lines  shot  out,  fastening  with  wee  loops  and  curves 
among  her  own.  Some  links  evidently  had  been 
established.     She  had  imparted  something. 

'  She's  dreaming !  I  do  believe  I've  sown  some 
dream  of  beauty  in  her  ! '  she  beamed  to  herself. 

Some  golden,  unaccustomed  sleep  had  fallen  over 
the  old  lady.     Stray  shreds  of  darkness  loosened  from 


xxv         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        3  $3 

the  general  mass  and  floated  off,  yet  did  not  melt 
entirely  from  sight.  She  was  shedding  some  of  her 
evil  thoughts. 

'  The  Sweep ! '  thought  Mother,  and  turning,  found 
him  beside  her  in  the  room.  Her  husband,  to  her 
astonishment,  was  also  there. 

'  But  I  didn't  think  of  you  !  '  she  exclaimed. 

'  Not  a  definite  thought,'  he  answered,  •  but  you 
needed  me.  I  felt  it.  We're  so  close  together  now 
that  we're  practically  one,  you  see.'  He  trailed  his 
Pattern  behind  him,  clothed  now  with  all  manner  of 
rich  new  colouring.  '  I've  collected  such  heaps  of 
new  ideas,'  he  went  on,  '  and  now  I  want  her  too. 
She's  in  the  Story.  I'll  transfigure  her  as  well.'  He 
was  bright  as  paint,  and  happy  as  a  sand-boy.  '  Well 
done,  old  Mother,'  he  added,  *  you've  done  a  lot 
already.  See,  she's  dreaming  small,  soft,  tender 
things  of  beauty  that  your  efforts  have  let  through.' 

He  glided  across  and  poured  from  his  own  store  of 
sympathy  into  that  dry,  atrophied  soul  upon  the  bed. 
'  It's  a  question  how  much  she  will  be  able  to  transmit, 
though,'  he  said  doubtfully.  '  The  spiritual  machinery 
is  so  stiff  and  out  of  gear  from  long  disuse.  In  Miss 
Waghorn's  case  it's  only  physical — I've  just  been 
there — but  this  is  spiritual  blackness.  We  shall  see 
to-morrow.  Something  will  get  through  at  any  rate, 
and  we  must  do  this  every  night,  you  know.' 

1  Rather  ! '  echoed  Mother. 

'  Her  actual  self,  you  see,  has  dwindled  so  that 
one  can  hardly  find  it.  It's  smaller  than  a  flea,  and 
as  hard  and  black.'     They  smiled  a  little  sadiy. 

The  Sweep,  rushing  out  of  the  window  with  his 
heavy  sack  loaded  to  the  brim,  interrupted  their  low 
laughter.  He  was  no  talker,  but  a  man  of  action. 
Busily  all  this  time  he  had   been   gathering  up  the 

2  A 


354        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

loose,  stray  fragments  that  floated  off  from  the  cloud, 
and  stuffing  them  into  the  sack.  He  now  flew,  sing- 
ing, into  the  night,  and  they  barely  caught  the  last 
words  of  his  eternal  song  : — 

*.  .  .  a  tremendously  busy  Sweep, 
Tossing  the  blacks  in  the  Rubbish  Heap 
Over  the  edge  of  the  world.' 

1  Come,'  whispered  Daddy.  '  It's  getting  late. 
The  interfering  sun  is  on  the  way,  and  you've  been 
hours  here  already.  All  the  trains  are  back,  and 
every  one  is  waiting  for  us.'  Yet  it  had  seemed  so 
short  a  time  really. 

Wrapped  together  in  the  beauty  of  his  Pattern, 
they  left  the  old  lady  peacefully  asleep,  and  sped 
across  the  roofs  towards  the  forest. 

But  neither  of  them  noticed,  it  seemed,  the  lovely 
little  shining  figure  that  hovered  far  in  the  air  above 
and  watched  them  go.  It  followed  them  all  the  way, 
catching  even  at  the  skirts  of  the  flying  Pattern  as 
they  went.  Was  it  the  Spirit  of  some  unknown  Star 
they  had  attracted  from  beyond  the  Milky  Way  ? 
Or  was  it,  perhaps,  a  Thought  from  some  fair,  ex- 
quisite heart  that  had  been  wakened  by  the  rushing 
of  the  Expresses,  and  had  flashed  in  to  take  a  place 
in  the  wonderful  story  Daddy  wove  ? 

It  had  little  twinkling  feet,  and  its  eyes  were  of 
brown  flame  and  amber. 

*  No,  they  did  not  notice  the  starry,  fluttering 
figure.  It  overtook  them  none  the  less,  and  with  a 
flying  leap  was  into  the  Pattern  of  his  story — in  the 
very  centre,  too  ! — as  quickly  as  lightning  passes 
through  the  foliage  of  the  tree  it  strikes.  Only 
the  lightning  stayed.     The  figure  remained  caught. 


xxv         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        355 

The  entire  Pattern  shivered  to  its  outer  fringes,  then 
began  to  glow  and  shine  all  over.  As  the  high 
harmonic  crowns  the  end  of  a  long  cadenza  on  a 
violin,  fulfilling  bars  of  difficult  effort,  this  point  of 
exquisite  beauty  flashed  life  into  the  Pattern  of  the 
story,  consummating  the  labour  of  construction  with 
the  true,  inevitable  climax.  There  was  something  of 
fairy  insolence,  both  cheeky  and  delicious,  in  the  pro- 
prietary way  it  chose  the  principal  place,  yet  the  only 
place  still  unoccupied,  and  sang  *  I'm  here.  I've 
come  ! '  It  calmly  fashioned  itself  a  nest,  as  it  were, 
curled  up  and  made  itself  at  home.  It  was  at  home. 
The  audacity  was  justified.  The  Pattern  seemed  at 
last  complete.  Beauty  and  Truth  shone  at  its  centre. 
And  the  tiny  voice  continued  singing,  though 
no  one  seemed  to  know  exactly  whence  the  sound 
proceeded  : — 

'While  the  busy  Pleiades, 
Sisters  to  the  Hyades, 
Seven  by  seven, 
Across  the  heaven, 
Light  desire 
With  their  fire, 
Flung  from  huge  Orion's  hand, 
Sweetly  linking 
All  our  thinking 
In  the  Net  of  Sympathy  that  brings  back  Fairyland  ! ' 

No — neither  Mother  nor  Daddy  were  aware  of 
what  had  happened  thus  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 
Certainly  neither  guessed  that  another  heart,  far 
distant  as  the  crow  flies,  had  felt  the  stream  of  his 
vital,  creative  thinking,  and  had  thus  delicately  re- 
sponded and  sent  out  a  sympathetic  message  of  belief. 
But  neither  did  Adams  and  Leverrier,  measuring 
the  heavens,  and  calculating  through  years  of  labour 
the  delicate  interstellar  forces,  know  that  each  had 


356        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

simultaneously  caught  Neptune  in  their  net  of  stars 
— three  thousand  million  miles  away.  Had  they 
been  '  out,'  these  two  big,  patient  astronomers, 
they  might  have  realised  that  they  really  worked 
in  concert  every  night.  But  history  does  not 
relate  that  they  slept  well  or  ill  ;  their  biographies 
make  no  mention  of  what  their  '  Underneaths '  were 
up  to  while  their  brains  lay  resting  on  the  pillow  ; 
and  private  confession,  if  such  exists,  has  never  seen 
the  light  of  print  as  yet.  In  that  region,  however, 
where  Thinking  runs  and  plays,  thought  dancing  hand 
in  hand  with  thought  that  is  akin  to  it,  the  fact  must 
surely  have  been  known  and  recognised.  They,  too, 
travelled  in  the  Starlight  Express. 

Mother  and  Daddy  realised  it  just  then  as  little 
as  children  are  aware  of  the  loving  thoughts  of 
the  parent  that  hovers  protectingly  about  them  all 
day  long.  They  merely  acknowledged  that  a  pro- 
digious thrill  of  happiness  pulsed  through  both  of 
them  at  once,  feeling  proud  as  the  group  in  the 
tree -tops  praised  their  increased  brightness  and 
admired  the  marvellous  shining  of  the  completed 
Pattern  they  trailed  above  their  heads.  But  more 
than  that  they  did  not  grasp.  Nor  have  they 
ever  grasped  it  perhaps.  That  the  result  came 
through  later  is  proved,  however,  by  the  published 
story,  and  by  the  strange,  sweet  beauty  its  readers 
felt  all  over  the  world.  But  this  belongs  to  the 
private  working  of  inspiration  which  can  never  be 
explained,  not  even  by  the  artist  it  has  set  on  fire. 
He,  indeed,  probably  understands  it  least  of  all. 

'  Where  are  the  trains,  the  Starlight  Expresses  ? ' 
asked  Mother. 

'  Gone  ! '  answered  Jimbo.  *  Gone  to  Australia 
where  they're  wanted.     It's  evening  now  down  there.' 


xxv         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        357 

He  pointed  down,  then  up.  '  Don't  you  see  ?  We 
must  hurry.'  She  looked  across  the  lake  where  the 
monstrous  wall  of  Alps  was  dimly  visible.  The  sky 
was  brightening  behind  them.  Long  strata  of  thin 
cloud  glimmered  with  faintest  pink.  The  stars  were 
rapidly  fading.  '  What  ages  you've  been ! '  he 
added. 

1  And  where's  Tante  Anna  ? '  she  inquired  quickly, 
looking  for  her  brilliant  friend. 

'  She's  come  and  gone  a  dozen  times  while  you've 
been  skylarking  somewhere  else,'  explained  Monkey 
with  her  usual  exaggeration.  '  She's  gone  for  good 
now.  She  sleeps  so  badly.  She's  always  waking 
up,  you  know.'  Mother  understood.  Only  too 
well  she  knew  that  her  friend  snatched  sleep  in 
briefest  intervals,  incessantly  disturbed  by  racking 
pain. 

A  stream  of  light  flashed  past  her,  dashing  like 
a  meteor  towards  the  village  and  disappearing  before 
she  could  see  the  figure. 

'  There  goes  Jinny,'  cried  some  one,  '  always 
working  to  the  very  last.  The  interfering  sun'll 
catch  her  if  she  doesn't  look  out !  ' 

There  was  movement  and  hurry  everywhere. 
Already  the  world  ran  loose  and  soft  in  colour. 
Birds,  just  awake,  were  singing  in  the  trees  below. 
Several  passed  swiftly  overhead,  raking  the  sky 
with  a  whirring  rush  of  wings.  Everybody  was 
asking  questions,  urging  return,  yet  lingering  as 
long  as  possible,  each  according  to  his  courage.  To 
be  caught  '  out '  by  the  sun  meant  waking  with  a 
sudden  start  that  made  getting  out  of  bed  very 
difficult  and  might  even  cause  a  headache. 

Rogers  alone  seemed  unperturbed,  unhurried,  for 
he    was    absorbed    in    a    discovery    that    made    him 


358        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

tremble.  Noting  the  sudden  perfection  of  his 
cousin's  Pattern,  he  had  gone  closer  to  examine  it, 
and  had  —  seen  the  starry  figure.  Instantly  he 
forgot  everything  else  in  the  world.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  had  suddenly  found  all  he  had 
ever  sought.  He  gazed  into  those  gentle  eyes  of 
amber  and  felt  that  he  gazed  into  the  eyes  of  the 
Universe  that  had  taken  shape  in  front  of  him. 
Floating  up  as  near  as  he  could,  he  spoke — 

i  Where  do  you  come  from — from  what  star  ? ' 
he  asked  softly  in  an  ecstasy  of  wonder. 

The  tiny  face  looked  straight  at  him  and  smiled. 

'  From  the  Pleiades,  of  course, — that  little  group 
of  star-babies  as  yet  unborn.' 

'  I've  been  looking  for  you  for  ever,'  he  answered. 

'You've  found  me,'  sang  the  tiny  voice.  'This 
is  our  introduction.  Now,  don't  forget.  There  was 
a  lost  Pleiad,  you  know.  Try  to  remember  me  when 
you  wake.' 

'  Then  why  are  you  here  ? '  He  meant  in  the 
Pattern. 

The  star-face  rippled  with  laughter. 

'  It's  yours — your  Scheme.  He's  given  it  perfect 
shape  for  you,  that's  all.  Don't  you  recognise  it  ? 
But  it's  my  Story  as  well.   .   .   .' 

A  ray  with  crimson  in  it  shot  out  just  then  across 
the  shoulder  of  the  Blumlisalp,  and,  falling  full  upon 
the  tiny  face,  it  faded  out  ;  the  Pattern  faded 
with  it  ;  Daddy  vanished  too.  On  the  little  azure 
winds  of  dawn  they  flashed  away.  Jimbo,  Monkey, 
and  certain  of  the  Sprites  alone  held  on,  but  the  tree- 
tops  to  which  they  clung  were  growing  more  and 
more  slippery  every  minute.  Mother,  loth  to  return, 
balanced  bravely  on  the  waving  spires  of  a  larch. 
Her  sleep  that  night  had  been  so  deep  and  splendid, 


xxv         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        359 

she  struggled  to  prolong  it.  She  hated  waking  up 
too  early. 

'  The  Morning  Spiders  !  Look  out  ! '  cried  a 
Sprite,  as  a  tiny  spider  on  its  thread  of  gossamer 
floated  by.  It  was  the  Dustman's  voice.  Catching 
the  Gypsy  with  one  arm  and  the  Tramp  with  the 
other,  all  three  instantly  disappeared. 

'  But  where's  my  Haystack  friend  ? '  called  Mother 
faintly,  almost  losing  her  balance  in  the  attempt  to 
turn  round  quickly. 

•  Oh,  she's  all  right,'  the  Head  Gardener  answered 
from  a  little  distance  where  he  was  burning  some- 
thing. '  She  just  "  stays  put "  and  flirts  with  every 
wind  that  comes  near  her.  She  loves  the  winds. 
They  know  her  little  ways.'  He  went  on  busily 
burning  up  dead  leaves  he  had  been  collecting  all 
night  long — dead,  useless  thoughts  he  had  found 
clogging  a  hundred  hearts  and  stopping  outlets. 

'  Look  sharp  ! '  cried  a  voice  that  fell  from  the 
sky  above  them. 

'  Here  come  the  Morning  Spiders, 
On  their  gossamer  outriders  !  ' 

This  time  it  was  the  Lamplighter  flashing  to  and 
fro  as  he  put  the  stars  out  one  by  one.  He  was  in 
a  frantic  hurry ;  he  extinguished  whole  groups  of 
them  at  once.     The  Pleiades  were  the  last  to  fade. 

Rogers  heard  him  and  came  back  into  himself. 
For  his  ecstasy  had  carried  him  even  beyond  the 
region  of  the  freest  '  thinking.'  He  could  give  no 
account  or  explanation  of  it  at  all.  Monkey,  Jimbo, 
Mother,  and  he  raced  in  a  line  together  for  home  and 
safety.  Above  the  fields  they  met  the  spiders  every- 
where, the  spiders  that  bring  the  dawn  and  ride  off 
into  the  Star  Cave  on  lost  rays  and  stray  thoughts 


360       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

that   careless    minds    have    left    scattered   about    the 
world. 

And  the  children,  as  they  raced  and  told  their 
mother  to  '  please  move  a  little  more  easily  and 
slipperily,'  sang  together  in  chorus  : — 

'  We  shall  meet  the  Morning  Spiders, 
The  fairy-cotton  riders, 
Each  mounted  on  a  star's  rejected  ray ; 
With  their  tiny  nets  of  feather 
They  collect  our  thoughts  together, 
And  on  strips  of  windy  weather 
Bring  the  Day.  .  .   . 

*  That's  stolen  from  you  or  Daddy,'  Mother  began 
to  say  to  Rogers — but  was  unable  to  complete  the 
flash.  The  thought  lay  loose  behind  her  in  the  air. 
A  spider  instantly  mounted  it  and  rode  it  off. 

Something  brushed  her  cheek.  Riquette  stood 
over  her,  fingering  her  face  with  a  soft  extended 
paw. 

'  But  it  surely  can't  be  time  yet  to  get  up  ! '  she 
murmured.  '  I've  only  just  fallen  asleep,  it  seems.' 
She  glanced  at  her  watch  upon  the  chair  beside  the 
bed,  saw  that  it  was  only  four  o'clock,  and  then 
turned  over,  making  a  space  for  the  cat  behind  her 
shoulder.  A  tremendous  host  of  dreams  caught  at 
her  sliding  mind.  She  tried  to  follow  them.  They 
vanished.  '  Oh  dear  !  '  she  sighed,  and  promptly  fell 
asleep  again.  But  this  time  she  slept  lightly.  No 
more  adventures  came.  She  did  not  dream.  And 
later,  when  Riquette  woke  her  a  second  time  because 
it  was  half-past  six,  she  remembered  as  little  of  having 
been  '  out '  as  though  such  a  thing  had  never  taken 
place  at  all. 

She  lit  the  fire  and  put  the  porridge  saucepan  on 
the  stove.      It  was  a  glorious  July  morning.     She  felt 


xxv        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        361 

glad  to  be  alive,  and  full  of  happy,  singing  thoughts. 
1 1  wish  I  could  always  sleep  like  that  !  '  she  said. 
'  But  what  a  pity  one  has  to  wake  up  in  the  end  ! ' 

And  then,  as  she  turned  her  mind  toward  the 
coming  duties  of  the  day,  another  thought  came  to 
her.  It  was  a  very  ordinary,  almost  a  daily  thought, 
but  there  seemed  more  behind  it  than  usual.  Her 
whole  heart  was  in  it  this  time — 

•  As  soon  as  the  children  are  off  to  school  I'll  pop 
over  to  mother,  and  see  if  I  can't  cheer  her  up 
a  bit  and  make  her  feel  more  happy.  Oh  dear  ! ' 
she  added,  '  life  is  a  bag  of  duties,  whichever  way 
one  looks  at  it ! '  But  she  felt  a  great  power  in  her 
that  she  could  face  them  easily  and  turn  each  one 
into  joy.  She  could  take  life  more  bigly,  carelessly, 
more  as  a  whole  somehow.  She  was  aware  of  some 
huge  directing  power  in  her  '  underneath.'  More- 
over, the  '  underneath  '  of  a  woman  like  Mother  was 
not  a  trifle  that  could  be  easily  ignored.  That  great 
Under  Self,  resting  in  the  abysses  of  being,  rose 
and  led.  The  pettier  Upper  Self  withdrew  ashamed, 
passing  over  the  reins  of  conduct  into  those  mighty, 
shadowy  hands. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

Canst  thou  bind  the  sweet  influences  of  Pleiades, 
Or  loose  the  bands  of  Orion  ? 

Book  of  yob. 

The  feeling  that  something  was  going  to  happen — 
that  odd  sense  of  anticipation — which  all  had  ex- 
perienced the  evening  before  at  tea-time  had  entirely 
vanished,  of  course,  next  morning.  It  was  a  mood, 
and  it  had  passed  away.  Every  one  had  slept  it  off. 
They  little  realised  how  it  had  justified  itself.  Jane 
Anne,  tidying  the  Den  soon  after  seven  o'clock, 
noticed  the  slip  of  paper  above  the  mantelpiece,  read 
it  over — '  The  Starlight  Express  will  start  to-night. 
Be  reddy ! ' — and  tore  it  down.  '  How  could  that 
have  amused  us ! '  she  said  aloud,  as  she  tossed  it 
into  the  waste -paper  basket.  Yet,  even  while  she 
did  so,  some  stray  sensation  of  delight  clutched  at  her 
funny  little  heart,  a  touch  of  emotion  she  could  not 
understand  that  was  wild  and  very  sweet.  She  went 
singing  about  her  work.  She  felt  important  and 
grown-up,  extraordinarily  light-hearted  too.  The 
things  she  sang  made  up  their  own  words — such  odd 
snatches  that  came  she  knew  not  whence.  An  insect 
clung  to  her  duster,  and  she  shook  it  out  of  the 
window  with  the  crumbs  and  bits  of  cotton  gathered 
from  the  table-cloth. 

*Get  out,  you  Morning  Spider, 
You  fairy-cotton  rider! 

362 


ch.  xxv.  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        363 

she  sang,  and  at  the  same  minute  Mother  opened  the 
bedroom  door  and  peeped  in,  astonished  at  the 
unaccustomed  music.  In  her  voluminous  dressing- 
gown,  her  hair  caught  untidily  in  a  loose  net,  her  face 
flushed  from  stooping  over  the  porridge  saucepan, 
she  looked,  thought  Jinny,  '  like  a  haystack  somehow.' 
Of  course  she  did  not  say  it.  The  draught,  flapping 
at  her  ample  skirts,  added  the  idea  of  a  covering 
tarpaulin  to  the  child's  mental  picture.  She  went  on 
dusting  with  a  half-offended  air,  as  though  Mother 
had  no  right  to  interrupt  her  with  a  superintending 
glance  like  this. 

'You  won't  forget  the  sweeping  too,  Jinny?' 
said  Mother,  retiring  again  majestically  with  that 
gliding  motion  her  abundant  proportions  achieved  so 
gracefully. 

'  Of  course  I  won't,  Mother,'  and  the  instant  the 
door  was  closed  she  fell  into  another  snatch  of  song, 
the  words  of  which  flowed  unconsciously  into  her 
mind,  it  seemed — 

'  For  I'm  a  tremendously  busy  Sweep, 
Dusting  the  room  while  you're  all  asleep, 
And  shoving  you  all  in  the  rubbish  heap, 
Over  the  edge  of  the  tiles ' 

— a  little  wumbled,  it  is  true,  but  its  source  unmis- 
takable. 

And  all  day  long,  with  every  one,  it  was  similar, 
this  curious  intrusion  of  the  night  into  the  day,  the 
sub-conscious  into  the  conscious — a  kind  of  subtle 
trespassing.  The  flower  of  forgotten  dreams  rose  so 
softly  to  the  surface  of  consciousness  that  they  had 
an  air  of  sneaking  in,  anxious  to  be  regarded  as  an 
integral  part  of  normal  waking  life.  Like  bubbles 
in  water  they  rose,  discharged  their  puff  of  fragrant 
air,  and  disappeared  again.     Jane  Anne,  in  particular, 


364        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

was  simply  radiant  all  day  long,  and  more  than 
usually  clear-headed.  Once  or  twice  she  wumbled, 
but  there  was  big  sense  in  her  even  then.  It  was 
only  the  expression  that  evaded  her.  Her  little 
brain  was  a  poor  transmitter  somehow. 

*  I  feel  all  endowed  to-day,'  she  informed  Rogers, 
when  he  congratulated  her  later  in  the  day  on  some 
cunning  act  of  attention  she  bestowed  upon  him.  It 
was  in  the  courtyard  where  they  all  sat  sunning 
themselves  after  dejeuner,  and  before  the  younger 
children  returned  to  afternoon  school. 

'  I  feel  emaciated,  you  know,'  she  added,  uncer- 
tain whether  emancipated  was  the  word  she  really 
sought. 

'  You'll  be  quite  grown-up,'  he  told  her,  c  by  the 
time  I  come  back  to  little  Bourcelles  in  the  autumn.' 
Little  Bourcelles  !  It  sounded,  the  caressing  way  he 
said  it,  as  if  it  lay  in  the  palm  of  his  big  brown 
hand. 

'  But  you'll  never  come  back,  because  you'll  never 
go,'  Monkey  chimed  in.     '  My  hair,  remember ' 

'  My  trains  won't  take  you,'  said  Jimbo  gravely. 

'  Oh,  a  train  may  take  you,'  continued  Monkey, 
'  but  you  can't  leave.  Going  away  by  train  isn't 
leaving.' 

'  It's  only  like  going  to  sleep,'  explained  her 
brother.  You'll  come  back  every  night  in  a  Star- 
light Express ' 

'  Because  a  Starlight  Express  takes  passengers — 
whether  they  like  it  or  not.  You  take  an  ordinary 
train,  but  a  starlight  train  takes  you ! '  added 
Monkey. 

Mother  heard  the  words  and  looked  up  sharply 
from  her  knitting.  Something,  it  seemed,  had 
caught  her  attention  vividly,   though  until  now  her 


xxvi        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        365 

thoughts  had  been  busy  with  practical  things  of  quite 
another  order.  She  glanced  keenly  round  at  the 
faces,  where  all  sat  grouped  upon  the  stone  steps  of 
La  Citadelle.  Then  she  smiled  curiously,  half  to  her- 
self. What  she  said  was  clearly  not  what  she  had 
first  meant  to  say. 

*  Children,  you're  not  sitting  on  the  cold  stone, 
are  you  ? '  she  inquired,  but  a  little  absent-mindedly. 

'  We're  quite  warm  ;  we've  got  our  thick  under- 
neathies  on,'  was  the  reply.  They  realised  that  only 
part  of  her  mind  was  in  the  question,  and  that  any 
ordinary  answer  would  satisfy  her. 

Mother  resumed  her  knitting,  apparently  satisfied. 

But  Jinny,  meanwhile,  had  been  following  her 
own  train  of  thought,  started  by  her  cousin's  descrip- 
tion of  her  as  '  grown-up.'  The  picture  grew  big 
and  gracious  in  her  mind. 

'  I  wonder  what  I  shall  do  when  my  hair  goes 
up  ? '  she  observed,  apparently  a  propos  de  bottes. 
It  was  the  day,  of  course,  eagerly,  almost  feverishly, 
looked  forward  to. 

'  Hide  your  head  in  a  bag  probably,'  laughed  her 
sister.  Jinny  flushed  ;  her  hair  was  not  abundant. 
Yet  she  seemed  puzzled  rather  than  offended. 

'  Never  mind,'  Rogers  soothed  her.  '  The  day  a 
girl  puts  up  her  hair,  a  thousand  young  men  are 
aware  of  it, — and  one  among  them  trembles.'  The 
idea  of  romance  seemed  somehow  in  the  air. 

'  Oh,  Cousinenry  ! '  She  was  delighted,  com- 
forted, impressed  ;  but  perplexity  was  uppermost. 
Something  in  his  tone  of  voice  prevented  impudent 
comment  from  the  others. 

'And  all  the  stars  grow  a  little  brighter,'  he 
added.     '  The  entire  universe  is  glad.' 

'  I   shall    be  a  regular  company  promoter  ! '   she 


366        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

exclaimed,   nearer  to   wit  than  she  knew,   yet   with 
only  the  vaguest  inkling  of  what  he  really  meant. 

*  And  draw  up  a  Memorandum  of  Agreement 
with  the  Milky  Way,'  he  added,  gravely  smiling. 

He  had  just  been  going  to  say  '  with  the  Pleiades,' 
when  something  checked  him.  A  wave  of  strange 
emotion  swept  him.  It  rose  from  the  depths  within, 
then  died  away  as  mysteriously  as  it  came.  Like 
exquisite  music  heard  from  very  far  away,  it  left  its 
thrill  of  beauty  and  of  wonder,  then  hid  behind  the 
breath  of  wind  that  brought  it.  '  The  whole  world, 
you  see,  will  know,'  he  added  under  his  breath  to 
the  delighted  child.  He  looked  into  her  queer, 
flushed  face.  The  blue  eyes  for  a  moment  had,  he 
thought,  an  amber  tinge.  It  was  a  mere  effect  of 
light,  of  course ;  the  sun  had  passed  behind  a 
cloud.  Something  that  he  ought  to  have  known, 
ought  to  have  remembered,  flashed  mockingly 
before  him  and  was  gone.  '  One  among  them 
trembles,'  he  repeated  in  his  mind.  He  himself  was 
trembling. 

*  The  Morning  Spiders,'  said  some  one  quietly 
and  softly,  *  are  standing  at  their  stable  doors, 
making  faces  at  the  hidden  sun.' 

But  he  never  knew  who  said  it,  or  if  it  was  not 
his  own  voice  speaking  below  his  breath.  He 
glanced  at  Jimbo.  The  small  grave  face  wore  an 
air  of  man-like  preoccupation,  as  was  always  the  case 
when  he  felt  a  little  out  of  his  depth  in  general  con- 
versation. He  assumed  it  in  self-protection.  He 
never  exposed  himself  by  asking  questions.  The 
music  of  that  under-voice  ran  on  : — 

*  Sweet  thoughts,  like  fine  weather, 
Bind  closely  together 
God's  stars  with  the  heart  of  a  boy,' 


xxvi        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        367 

But  he  said  it  aloud  apparently  this  time,  for  the 
others  looked  up  with  surprise.  Monkey  inquired 
what  in  the  world  he  was  talking  about,  only,  not 
quite  knowing  himself,  he  could  not  answer  her. 
Jimbo  then,  silent  and  preoccupied,  found  his 
thoughts  still  running  on  marriage.  The  talk  about 
his  sister's  hair  going  up  no  doubt  had  caused  it. 
He  remembered  the  young  schoolmistress  who  had 
her  meals  at  the  Pension,  and  the  Armenian  student 
who  had  fallen  in  love  with,  and  eventually  married, 
her.  It  was  the  only  courtship  he  had  ever  wit- 
nessed. Marriage  and  courtship  seemed  everywhere 
this  morning. 

'  I  saw  it  all  with  Mile.  Perette,'  he  informed  the 
party.  '  It  began  already  by  his  pouring  out  water 
for  her  and  passing  the  salt  and  things.  It  always 
begins  like  that.  He  got  shawls  even  when  she 
was  hot.' 

He  looked  so  wise  and  grave  that  nobody  laughed, 
and  his  sisters  even  seemed  impressed  rather.  Jinny 
waited  anxiously  for  more.  If  Mother  did  make 
an  odd  grimace,  it  was  not  noticed,  and  anyhow  was 
cleverly  converted  into  the  swallowing  of  a  yawn. 
There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Jimbo,  proudly 
conscious  that  more  was  expected  of  him,  provided 
it  in  his  solemn  little  voice. 

'But  it  must  be  horrid,'  he  announced,  'to  be 
married — always  sticked  to  the  same  woman,  like 
that.'  No  sentence  was  complete  without  the  inevit- 
able '  already '  or  '  like  that,'  translated  from  the 
language  he  was  more  at  home  in.  He  thought  in 
French.  'I  shall  never  marry  myself  (me  marier), 
he  decided,  seeing  his  older  sister's  eyes  upon  him 
wonderinpdy.  Then,  uncertain  whether  he  had  said 
an  awfully  wise  or  an  awfully  foolish  thing,  he  added 


368         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

no  more.     Anyhow,  it  was  the  way  a  man  should 
talk — with  decision. 

'  It's  bad  enough  to  be  a  wife,'  put  in  Monkey, 
1  but  it  must  be  worse  still  to  have  one  ! ' 

But  Jane  Anne  seemed  shocked.  A  man,  Jimbo 
reflected,  can  never  be  sure  how  his  wisdom  may 
affect  the  other  sex ;  women  are  not  meant  to  know 
everything.  She  rose  with  dignity  and  went  upstairs 
towards  the  door,  and  Monkey,  rippling  with  laughter, 
smacked  her  as  she  went.    This  only  shocked  her  more. 

'  That  was  a  slight  mistake  behind,'  she  said  re- 
provingly, looking  back  ;  '  you  should  have  more 
reserve,  I  think,'  then  firmly  shut  the  door. 

All  of  which  meant — so  far  as  Jane  Anne  was 
concerned — that  an  important  standard  of  conduct — 
grown-up,  dignified,  stately  in  a  spiritual  sense — was 
being  transferred  to  her  present  behaviour,  but  trans- 
ferred ineffectively.  Elsewhere  Jane  Anne  lived  it, 
was  it.  She  knew  it,  but  could  not  get  at  the  part 
of  her  that  knew  it.  The  transmitting  machinery 
was  imperfect.  Connecting  links  and  switches  were 
somehow  missing.  Yearning  was  strong  in  her,  that 
yearning  which  is  common  to  all  the  world,  though 
so  variously  translated.  Once  out  of  the  others' 
sight,  she  made  a  curious  face.  She  went  into  her 
room  between  the  kitchen  and  the  Den,  flung  herself 
on  the  bed,  and  burst  into  tears.  And  the  tears 
brought  relief.  They  oiled  the  machinery  perhaps. 
At  any  rate,  she  soon  felt  better. 

'  I  felt  so  enormous  and  unsettled,'  she  informed 
Mother  later,  when  the  redness  of  her  eyes  was 
noticed  and  she  received  breathlessly  a  great  com- 
forting hug.      '  I  never  get  anything  right.' 

'  But  you  are  right,  darling,'  Mother  soothed  her, 
little  guessing  that  she  told  the  perfect  truth.     '  You 


xxvi        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        369 

are  all  right,  only  you  don't  know  it.  Everybody's 
wumbled  somewhere.'  And  she  advised  her — ah, 
Mother  was  profoundly  wise  instinctively — not  to 
think  so  much,  but  just  go  ahead  as  usual  and  do  her 
work. 

For  Mother  herself  felt  a  little  queer  that  day,  as 
though  something  very  big  and  splendid  lay  hiding 
just  beyond  her  reach.  It  surged  up,  vanished,  then 
surged  up  again,  and  it  came  closest  when  she  was 
not  thinking  of  it.  The  least  effort  of  the  mind  to 
capture  it  merely  plunged  her  into  an  empty  gulf 
where  she  could  not  touch  bottom.  The  glorious 
thing  ran  instantly  underground.  She  never  ceased 
to  be  aware  of  it,  but  any  attempt  to  focus  resulted 
in  confusion.  Analysis  was  beyond  her  powers,  yet 
the  matter  was  very  simple  really,  for  only  when 
thought  is  blank,  and  when  the  mind  has  forgotten 
to  think,  can  inspiration  come  through  into  the  heart. 
The  intellect  interprets  afterwards,  sets  in  order, 
regulates,  examines  the  wonder  and  beauty  the  heart 
distils  alchemically  out  of  the  eternal  stream  in  which 
life  everywhere  dips  its  feet.  If  Reason  interferes 
too  soon,  or  during  transmission,  it  only  muddles 
and  destroys.  And  Mother,  hitherto,  had  always 
been  so  proud  of  being  practical,  prosaic,  reasonable. 
She  had  deliberately  suppressed  the  other.  She 
could  not  change  in  a  single  day  just  because  she 
had  been  '  out '  and  made  discoveries  last  night. 
Oh,  how  simple  it  all  was  really,  and  yet  how 
utterly  most  folk  convert  the  wonder  of  it  into 
wumbling  ! 

Like  Jane  Anne,  her  miniature,  she  felt  splendid 
all  day  long,  but  puzzled  too.  It  was  almost  like 
those  religious  attacks  she  had  experienced  in  early 
youth.      She    had   no   definite    creed    by    which    she 

2  B 


370        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

could  explain  it.  Though  nominally  Christian,  like 
her  husband,  she  could  not  ascribe  her  joy  to  a 
'  Holy  Spirit,'  or  to  a  '  God  '  working  in  her.  But 
she  was  reminded  of  her  early  '  religious  attacks ' 
because  she  now  experienced  that  large  sensation  of 
glorious  peace  and  certainty  which  usually  accompanies 
the  phenomenon  in  the  heart  called  '  conversion.' 
She  saw  life  whole.  She  rested  upon  some  unfailing 
central  Joy.  Come  what  might,  she  felt  secure  and 
'  saved.'  Something  everlasting  lay  within  call,  an 
ever-ready  help  in  trouble  ;  and  all  day  she  was 
vaguely  conscious  that  her  life  lay  hid  with — with 
what  ?  She  never  found  the  word  exactly,  for  '  Joy  ' 
was  but  one  aspect  of  it.  She  fell  back  upon  the 
teachings  of  the  big  religions  which  are  the  police 
regulations  of  the  world.  Yet  all  creeds  shared  these, 
and  her  feeling  was  far  deeper  than  mere  moral 
teachings.  And  then  she  gave  up  thinking  about  it. 
Besides,  she  had  much  knitting  to  do. 

'  It's  come  to  stay  anyhow  ;  I  feel  in  sympathy 
with  everybody,'  she  said,  and  so  dismissed  vain 
introspection,  keeping  the  simple  happiness  and 
peace.  That  was  her  strength,  as  it  was  also  Jinny's. 
A  re-formation  had  begun. 

Jimbo,  too,  felt  something  in  his  microcosmic 
way,  only  he  said  little  and  asked  no  single  question. 
It  betrayed  itself,  however,  to  his  Mother's  widened 
vision.  He  was  all  stirred  up.  He  came  back 
again  from  school  at  three  o'clock  —  for  it  was 
Thursday  and  he  did  not  take  the  singing  lesson 
from  three  to  four — put  down  his  books  with  a  very 
business-like  air,  forgot  to  kiss  his  Mother — and 
went  out. 

'  Where  are  you  off  to,  Jimbo  ? '  She  scented 
mischief.     He  was  so  affairi. 


<xvi        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        371 

He  turned  obediently  at  once,  the  face  grave  and 
puckered. 

'  Going  over  to  the  carpenter's  house,  Mummy.' 

'  What  for,  dear  ?  Why  don't  you  stay  and  play 
here  ? '  She  had  the  feeling  that  her  husband  was 
absorbed  in  his  work  and  would  not  like  to  be 
disturbed. 

The  boy's  reply  was  evasive  too.  '  I  want  to 
have  a  long  discuss  with  Daddy,'  he  said. 

1  Can't  you  have  your  long  discuss  with  me  in- 
stead ? '  she  asked. 

He  shook  his  head.  *  You  see,'  he  answered 
solemnly,  '  it's  about  things.' 

*  But  Daddy's  working  just  now  ;  he'll  be  over  to 
tea  at  four.      Can't  it  wait  till  then  ? ' 

She  understood  too  well  to  inquire  what  '  things ' 
might  be.  The  boy  wished  to  speak  with  one  of  his 
own  sex — as  one  man  to  another  man. 

'  When  a  man's  at  work,'  she  added,  '  he  doesn't 
like  to  be  disturbed.' 

'  All  right,'  was  the  reply.  '  We  can  wait  a  little,' 
and  he  settled  down  to  other  things  in  a  corner  by 
himself.  His  mind,  clearly,  was  occupied  with  grave 
considerations  he  could  not  discuss  with  anybody, 
least  of  all  with  women  and  children.  But,  of 
course,  busy  men  must  not  be  interrupted.  For  a 
whole  hour  in  his  corner  he  made  no  sound,  and 
hardly  any  movement. 

But  Daddy  did  not  come  at  four  o'clock.  He 
was  evidently  deep  in  work.  And  Mother  did  not 
send  for  him.  The  carpenter's  wife,  she  knew,  would 
provide  a  cup  of  tea. 

He  came  late  to  supper,  too,  at  the  Pension, 
nodded  to  Mother  with  an  expression  which  plainly 
said,  '  I've  finished  the  story  at  last '  ;  winked  to  his 


372        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

cousin,  meaning, '  It  came  out  all  right,  I'm  satisfied,' 
and  took  his  seat  between  Jinny  and  Mile.  Vuillemot, 
the  governess  who  had  earned  her  meal  by  giving 
a  music  lesson  that  afternoon  to  a  pensionnaire. 
Jinny  looked  sideways  at  him  in  a  spirit  of  examina- 
tion, and  picked  the  inevitable  crumb  deftly  from 
his  beard. 

'  Reminiscences  !  '  she  observed  slyly.  '  You  did 
have  some  tea,  then.'  Her  long  word  was  well 
chosen  for  once  ;  her  mind  unusually  logical,  too. 

But  Daddy  made  no  reply  ;  he  went  on  eating 
whatever  was  set  before  him  with  an  air  of  complete 
detachment ;  he  devoured  cold  ham  and  salad  auto- 
matically ;  and  the  children,  accustomed  to  this 
absorption,  ignored  his  presence.  He  was  still  in 
the  atmosphere  of  his  work,  abstracted,  lost  to  the 
outer  world.  They  knew  they  would  only  get 
wumbled  answers  to  their  questions  and  remarks, 
and  they  did  not  dare  to  tease  him.  From  time  to 
time  he  lifted  his  eyes — very  bright  they  were — and 
glanced  round  the  table,  dimly  aware  that  he  was  in 
the  midst  of  a  stream  of  noisy  chatter,  but  unable  to 
enter  it  successfully  at  any  point.  Mother,  watching 
him,  thought,  '  He's  sitting  on  air,  he's  wrapped 
in  light,  he's  very  happy '  ;  and  ate  an  enormous 
supper,  as  though  an  insatiable  hunger  was  in  her. 

The  governess,  Mile.  Vuillemot,  who  stood  in  awe 
of  the  '  author  '  in  him,  seized  her  opportunity.  She 
loved  to  exchange  a  mot  with  a  real  writer,  read- 
ing all  kinds  of  unintended  subtlety  into  his  brief 
replies  in  dreadful  French.  To-night  she  asked  him 
the  meaning  of  a  word,  title  of  a  Tauchnitz  novel  she 
had  been  reading — Juggernaut  ;  but,  being  on  his  deaf 
side,  he  caught  '  Huguenot '  instead,  and  gave  her  a 
laboured  explanation,  strangled  by  appalling  grammar. 


xxvx        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        373 

The  historical  allusions  dazed  her  ;  the  explana- 
tion ended  on  a  date.  She  was  sorry  she  had 
ventured,  for  it  made  her  feel  so  ignorant. 

'  Shuggairnort,'  she  repeated  bravely.  She  had  a 
vague  idea  he  had  not  properly  heard  before. 

But  this  time  he  caught  '  Argonaut,'  and  swamped 
her  then  with  classical  exposition,  during  which  she 
never  took  her  eyes  off  him,  and  decided  that  he 
was  far  more  wonderful  than  she  had  ever  dreamed. 
He  was  ;  but  not  for  the  reasons  she  supposed. 

'  Thank  you,'  she  said  with  meek  gratitude  at  the 
end,  *  I  thank  you.' 

1 II  n'y  a  pas  de  quar,'  replied  Daddy,  bowing  ; 
and  the  adventure  came  to  an  end.  The  others 
luckily  had  not  heard  it  in  full  swing  ;  they  only 
caught  the  final  phrase  with  which  he  said  adieu. 
But  it  served  its  unwitting  purpose  admirably.  It 
brought  him  back  to  the  world  about  him.  The 
spell  was  broken.     All  turned  upon  him  instantly. 

'  Snay  pas  un  morsow  de  bong.'  Monkey  copied 
his  accent,  using  a  sentence  from  a  schoolboy's 
letter  in  Punch.  '  It's  not  a  bit  of  good.'  Mother 
squelched  her  with  a  look,  but  Daddy,  even  if  he 
noticed  it,  was  not  offended.  Nothing  could  offend 
him  to-night.  Impertinence  turned  silvery  owing 
to  the  way  he  took  it.  There  was  a  marvellous 
light  and  sweetness  about  him.  '  He  is  on  air,' 
decided  Mother  finally.  '  He's  written  his  great 
Story — our  story.     It's  finished  ! ' 

'  I  don't  know,'  he  said  casually  to  the  others,  as 
they  stood  talking  a  few  minutes  in  the  salon  before 
going  over  to  the  Den,  '  if  you'd  like  to  hear  it ; 
but  I've  got  a  new  creature  for  the  Wumble  Book. 
It  came  to  me  while  I  was  thinking  of  something 
else— ' 


374        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

'  Thinking  of  one  thing  while  you  were  thinking 
of  another ! '  cried  Monkey.  It  described  exaccurately 
his  state  of  mind  sometimes. 

' and  I  jotted  down  the  lines  on  my  cuff.     So 

it's  not  very  perfect  yet.' 

Mother  had  him  by  the  arm  quickly.  Mile. 
Vuillemot  was  hovering  in  his  neighbourhood,  for 
one  thing.  It  seemed  to  her  they  floated  over, 
almost  flew. 

'  It's  a  Haystack  Woman,'  he  explained,  once  they 
were  safely  in  the  Den  grouped  about  him.  '  A 
Woman  of  the  Haystack  who  is  loved  by  the  Wind. 
That  is  to  say,  the  big  Wind  loves  her,  but  she  prefers 
the  younger,  handsomer  little  Winds,  and ' 

He  was  not  allowed  to  finish.  The  children  laid 
his  cuff  back  in  a  twinkling,  drawing  up  the  coat 
sleeve. 

'  But  surely  I  know  that,'  Mother  was  saying. 
*  I've  heard  of  her  before  somewhere.  I  wonder 
where  ? '  Others  were  saying  the  same  thing.  '  It's 
not  new.* 

'  Impossible,'  said  Daddy,  '  for  the  idea  only  came 
to  me  this  morning  while  I  was ' 

'  Thinking  of  something  else  '  Monkey  again 
finished  the  sentence  for  him. 

Mother  felt  that  things  were  rushing  about  her 
from  another  world.  She  was  vaguely  conscious — 
deliciously,  bewilderingly — of  having  heard  this  all 
before.  Imaginative  folk  have  built  the  certainty 
of  a  previous  existence  upon  evidence  as  slight  ;  for 
actual  scenery  came  with  it,  and  she  saw  dim  forest 
trees,  and  figures  hovering  in  the  background,  and 
bright  atmosphere,  and  fields  of  brilliant  stars.  She 
felt  happy  and  shining,  light  as  a  feather,  too.  It 
all  was  just  beyond  her  reach,  though  ;  she  could  not 


Xxvi        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        375 

recover  it  properly.  '  It  must  have  been  a  dream 
she  told  me,'  was  her  conclusion,  referring  to  Mile. 
Lemaire.  Her  old  friend  was  in  it  somewhere  or 
other.     She  felt  sure  of  that. 

She  hardly  heard,  indeed,  the  silly  lines  her  husband 
read  aloud  to  the  children.  She  liked  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  though  ;  it  suggested  music  she  had  known 
far  away — in  her  childhood. 

'  It's  high  spirits  really,'  whispered  Rogers,  sitting 
beside  her  in  the  window.  '  It's  a  sort  of  overflow 
from  his  story.  He  can't  do  that  kind  of  rhyme 
a  bit,  but  it's  an  indication ' 

'  You  think  he's  got  a  fine  big  story  this  time  ?  ' 
she  asked  under  her  breath  ;  and  Cousin  Henry's  eyes 
twinkled  keenly  as  he  gave  a  significant  nod  and 
answered  :  '  Rather !  Can't  you  feel  the  splendour 
all  about  him,  the  strength,  the  harmony  !  ' 

She  leaped  at  the  word.  Harmony  exactly 
described  this  huge  new  thing  that  had  come  into 
the  family,  into  the  village,  into  the  world.  The 
feeling  that  they  all  were  separate  items,  struggling 
for  existence  one  against  the  other,  had  gone  for 
ever.  Life  seemed  now  a  single  whole,  an  enormous 
pattern.  Every  one  fitted  in.  There  was  effort — 
wholesome  jolly  effort,  but  no  longer  the  struggle  or 
fighting  that  were  ugly.  To  '  live  carelessly '  was 
possible  and  right  because  the  pattern  was  seen  entire. 
It  was  to  live  in  the  whole. 

'  Harmony,'  she  repeated  to  herself,  with  a  great 
swelling  happiness  in  her  heart,  *  that's  the  nunculus 
of  the  matter.' 

'  The  what  ? '  he  asked,  overhearing  her. 

*  The  nunculus,'  she  repeated  bravely,  seeing  the 
word  in  her  mind,  vet  unable  to  get  it  quite.  Rogers 
did  not  correct  her. 


376        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

'  Rather,'  was  all  he  said.  '  Of  course  it  is.'  What 
did  the  pronunciation  of  a  word  matter  at  such  a 
time  ?  Her  version  even  sounded  better  than  the 
original.  Mother  saw  things  bigger  !  Already  she 
was  becoming  creative  ! 

'  And  you're  the  one  who  brought  it,'  she 
continued,  but  this  time  so  low  that  he  did  not 
catch  the  words.  '  It's  you,  your  personality,  your 
thinking,  your  atmosphere  somehow  that  have 
brought  this  gigantic  sense  of  peace  and  calm 
security  which  are  au  fond  nothing  but  the  con- 
sciousness of  harmony  and  the  power  of  seeing  ugly 
details  in  their  proper  place — in  a  single  coup  cT  ceil 
— and  understanding  them  as  parts  of  a  perfect 
whole.' 

It  was  her  thought  really  running  on  ;  she  never 
could  have  found  the  words  like  that.  She  thought 
in  French,  too,  for  one  thing.  And,  in  any  case, 
Rogers  could  not  have  heard  her,  for  he  was  listening 
now  to  the  uproar  of  the  children  as  they  criticised 
Daddy's  ridiculous  effusion.  A  haystack,  courted  in 
vain  by  zephyrs,  but  finally  taken  captive  by  an  equi- 
noctial gale,  strained  nonsense  too  finely  for  their 
sense  of  what  was  right  and  funny.  It  was  the 
pictures  he  now  drew  in  the  book  that  woke  their 
laughter.  He  gave  the  stack  a  physiognomy  that 
they  recognised. 

'  But,  Mother,  he's  making  it  look  like  you  ! ' 
cried  Monkey — only  Mother  was  too  far  away  in 
her  magnificent  reverie  to  reply  intelligently. 

'  I  know  her  ;  she's  my  friend,'  she  answered 
vaguely.     '  So  it's  all  right.' 

1  Majestic  Haystack ' — it  was  the  voice  of  the 
wind  addressing  her  : — 


xxvi        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        377 

•'Majestic  Haystack,  Empress  of  my  life, 
Your  ample  waist 
Just  fits  the  gown  I  fancy  for  my  wife, 

And  suits  my  taste  ; 
Yet  there  you  stand,  flat-footed,  square  and  deep, 
An  unresponsive,  elephantine  heap, 
Coquetting  with  the  stars  while  I'm  asleep, 

0  cruel  Stack  ! 

Coy,  silent  Monster,  Matron  of  the  fields, 

1  sing  to  you  ; 

And  all  the  fondest  love  that  summer  yields 

I  bring  to  you  ; 
Yet  there  you  squat,  immense  in  your  disdain. 
Heedless  of  all  the  tears  of  streaming  rain 
My  eyes  drip  over  you — your  breathless  swain  ; 

O  stony  Stack  ! 

Stupendous  Maiden,  sweetest  when  oblong, 

Does  inner  flame 
Now  smoulder  in  thy  soul  to  hear  my  song 

Repeat  thy  name  ? 
Or  does  thy  huge  and  ponderous  heart  object 
The  advances  of  my  passion,  and  reject 
My  love  because  it's  airy  and  elect  ? 

O  wily  Stack  ! 

O  crested  goddess,  thatched  and  top-knotted, 

0  reckless  Stack  ! 

Of  wives  that  to  the  Wind  have  been  allotted 

There  is  no  lack  ; 
You've  spurned  my  love  as  though  I  were  a  worm  ; 
But  next  September  when  I  see  thy  form, 
I'll  woo  thee  with  an  equinoctial  storm  ! 

1  have  that  knack ! ' 

*  Far  less  wumbled  than  usual,'  thought  Rogers, 
as  the  children  danced  about  the  room,  making  up  new 
ridiculous  rhymes,  of  which  '  I'll  give  you  a  whack  ' 
seemed  the  most  popular.  Only  Jane  Anne  was 
quiet.  A  courtship  even  so  remote  and  improbable 
as  between  the  Wind  and  a  Haystack  sent  her 
thoughts  inevitably  in  the  dominant  direction. 


378        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

'  It  must  be  nice  when  one  is  two,'  she  whispered 
ambiguously  to  Mother  with  a  very  anxious  face, 
'  but  I'm  sure  that  if  a  woman  can't  cook,  love 
flies  out  of  the  window.  It's  a  positive  calamity, 
you  know.' 

But  it  was  Cousin  Henry's  last  night  in  Bourcelles, 
and  the  spirit  of  pandemonium  was  abroad.  Neither 
parent  could  say  no  to  anything,  and  mere  conversa- 
tion in  corners  was  out  of  the  question.  The  door 
was  opened  into  the  corridor,  and  while  Mother 
played  her  only  waltz,  Jimbo  and  Monkey  danced 
on  the  splintery  boards  as  though  it  were  a  parquet 
floor,  and  Rogers  pirouetted  somewhat  solemnly  with 
Jane  Anne.  She  enjoyed  it  immensely,  yet  rested  her 
hand  very  gingerly  upon  his  shoulder.  '  Please  don't 
hold  me  quite  so  tight,'  she  ventured.  '  I've  never 
danced  with  a  strange  man  before,  you  see  '  ;  and  he 
no  more  laughed  at  her  than  he  had  laughed  at 
Mother's  '  nunculus.'  Even  Jane  Anne,  he  knew, 
would  settle  down  comfortably  before  long  into  the 
great  big  pattern  where  a  particular  nook  awaited — 
aye,  needed — her  bizarre,  odd  brilliance.  The  most 
angular  fragments  would  nest  softly,  neatly  in.  A 
little  filing,  a  little  polishing,  and  all  would  fit 
together.  To  force  would  only  be  to  break.  Hurry 
was  of  the  devil.  And  later,  while  Daddy  played  an 
ancient  tune  that  was  written  originally  as  a  mazurka 
yet  did  duty  now  for  a  two-step,  he  danced  with 
Mother  too,  and  the  children  paused  to  watch  out  of 
sheer  admiration. 

'  Fancy,  Mother  dancing  ! '  they  exclaimed  with 
glee — except  Jinny,  who  was  just  a  little  offended 
and  went  to  stand  by  the  piano  till  it  was  over. 
For  Mother  danced  as  lightly  as  a  child  for  all  her 


xxvi        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        379 

pride  of  measurement,  and  no  frigate  ever  skimmed 
the  waves  more  gracefully  than  Mother  glided  over 
those  uneven  boards. 

'  The  Wind  and  the  Haystack,'  of  course,  was 
Monkey's  description. 

*  You'll  wind  and  haystack  to  bed  now,'  was  the 
reply,  as  Mother  sat  and  fanned  herself  in  the  corner. 
The  '  bed-sentence,'  as  the  children  called  it,  was 
always  formed  in  this  way.  Whatever  the  child  was 
saying  when  the  moment  came,  Mother  adopted  as 
her  verb.  '  Shall  I  put  some  peat  on,  Mother  ? ' 
became  '  Peat  yourself  off  to  bed — it's  nine  o'clock  ' 
— and  the  child  was  sorry  it  had  spoken. 

Good-byes  had  really  been  said  at  intervals  all 
day  long,  and  so  to-night  were  slight  enough  ;  the 
children,  besides,  were  so  '  excitey-tired,'  as  Monkey 
put  it,  that  they  possessed  no  more  emotion  of  any 
kind.  There  were  various  disagreeable  things  in  the 
immediate  future  of  To-morrow — getting  up  early, 
school,  and  so  forth  ;  and  Cousin  Henry's  departure 
they  lumped  in  generally  with  the  mass,  accepted  but 
unrealised.  Jimbo  could  hardly  keep  his  eyes  alight, 
and  Monkey's  hair  was  like  a  baby  haystack  the 
wind  had  treated  to  an  equinoctial  storm.  Jinny, 
stiff,  perplexed,  and  solemn  with  exhaustion,  yet 
dared  not  betray  it  because  she  was  older,  in  measur- 
able distance  of  her  hair  going  up. 

'  Why  don't  you  play  with  the  others,  child  ? ' 
asked  Mother,  finding  her  upright  on  a  sofa  while 
the  romp  went  on. 

1  Oh,  to-night,'  Jinny  explained,  '  I  sit  indifferent 
and  look  on.  I  don't  always  feel  like  skedivvying 
about  ! ' 

To  skedivvy  was  to  chivvy  and  skedaddle — its 
authority  not  difficult  to  guess. 


380        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

'  Good-bye,  Cousinenry,'  each  gasped,  as  his  big 
arms  went  round  them  and  squeezed  out  the  exclama- 
tion. '  Oh,  thank  you  most  awfully,'  came  next,  with 
another  kiss,  produced  by  his  pressing  something 
hard  and  round  and  yellow  into  each  dirty  little 
hand.  '  It's  only  a  bit  of  crystallised  starlight,'  he 
explained,  '  that  escaped  long  ago  from  the  Cave. 
And  starlight,  remember,  shines  for  everybody  as 
well  as  for  yourselves.  You  can  buy  a  stamp  with 
it  occasionally,  too,'  he  added,  '  and  write  to  me.' 

'  We  will.     Of  course  ! ' 

Jimbo  straightened  up  a  moment  before  the  final 
collapse  of  sleep. 

'  Your  train  leaves  at  6.23,'  he  said,  with  the 
authority  of  exclusive  information.  '  You  must  be 
at  the  station  at  six  to  get  the  bagages  enregistrees. 
It's  a  slow  train  to  Pontarlier,  but  you'll  find  a 
wagon  direct  for  Paris  in  front,  next  to  the  engine. 
I  shall  be  at  the  station  to  see  you  off.' 

'  /  shan't,'  said  Monkey. 

Rogers  realised  with  delight  the  true  meaning 
of  these  brief  and  unemotional  good-byes.  '  They 
know  I'm  coming  back  ;  they  feel  that  the  important 
part  of  me  is  not  going  away  at  all.  My  thinking 
stays  here  with  them.' 

Jinny  lingered  another  ten  minutes  for  appearance's 
sake.  It  was  long  past  her  bed-time,  too,  but  dignity 
forbade  her  retiring  with  the  others.  Standing  by 
the  window  she  made  conversation  a  moment,  feeling 
it  was  the  proper,  grown-up  thing  to  do.  It  was 
even  expected  of  her. 

'  Look  !  It's  full  moon,'  she  observed  gravely, 
as  though  suggesting  that  she  could,  if  she  liked,  go 
out  and  enjoy  the  air.     '  Isn't  it  lovely  ? ' 

'  No,  yesterday  was  full  moon,'  Rogers  corrected 


xxvi        A  PRISONER  IN   FAIRYLAND         381 

her,  joining  her  and  looking  out.  '  Two  nights  ago, 
to  be  exact,  I  think.' 

'  Oh,'  she  replied,  as  solemnly  as  though  politics 
or  finance  were  under  discussion,  '  then  it's  bigger 
than  full  moon  now.  It  goes  on,  does  it,  getting 
fuller  and  fuller,  till ' 

1  Now,  Jinny  dear,  it's  very  late,  and  you'd  better 
full-moon  off  to  bed,'  Mother  interrupted  gently. 

'Yes,  Mother;  I'm  just  saying  good-night.' 
She  held  her  hand  out,  as  though  she  was  afraid  he 
might  kiss  her,  yet  feared  he  would  not.  '  Good-bye, 
Mr.  Cousin  Henry,  and  I  hope  you'll  have  an 
exceedingly  happy  time  in  the  train  and  soon  come 
back  and  visit  us  again.' 

'Thank  you,'  he  said,  'I'm  sure  I  shall.'  He 
gave  her  a  bit  of  solid  starlight  as  he  said  it,  then 
suddenly  leaned  forward  and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek. 
Making  a  violent  movement  like  an  experienced 
boxer  who  dodges  an  upper  cut,  Jinny  turned  and  fled 
precipitately  from  the  room,  forgetting  her  parents 
altogether.  That  kiss,  she  felt,  consumed  her  child- 
hood in  a  flash  of  fiery  flame.  In  bed  she  decided 
that  she  must  lengthen  her  skirts  the  very  next  day, 
and  put  her  hair  up  too.  She  must  do  something 
that  should  give  her  protection  and  yet  freedom. 
For  a  long  time  she  did  not  sleep.  She  lay  thinking 
it  over.  She  felt  supremely  happy — wild,  excited, 
naughty.  '  A  man  has  kissed  me  ;  it  was  a  man  ; 
it  was  Mr.  Rogers,  Daddy's  cousin.  .  .  .  He's  not 
my  cousin  exactly,  but  just  "  a  man."  And  she 
fell  asleep,  wondering  how  she  ought  to  begin  her 
letter  to  him  when  she  wrote,  but,  more  perplexing 
still,  how  she  ought  to — end  it !  That  little  back- 
ward brain  sought  the  solution  of  the  problem  all 
night  long  in  dreams.     She  felt  a  criminal,  a  dare- 


382       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND    ch.  xxvi 

devil  caught  in  the  act,  awaiting  execution.  Light 
had  been  flashed  cruelly  upon  her  dark,  careful 
secret — the  greatest  and  finest  secret  in  the  world. 
The  child  lay  under  sentence  indeed,  only  it  was  a 
sentence  of  life,  and  not  of  death. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

Asia.  ...  I  feel,  I  see 

Those  eyes  which  burn  through  smiles  that  fade  in  tears, 
Like  stars  half  quenched  in  mists  of  silver  dew. 

Prometheus  Unbound,  Shelley. 

It  was  only  ten  o'clock,  really,  and  the  curfew  was 
ringing  from  every  village  on  the  mountain-side. 
The  sound  of  the  bells,  half  musical,  half  ominous, 
was  borne  by  the  bise  across  the  vineyards,  for  the 
easterly  wind  that  brings  fine  weather  was  blowing 
over  lake  and  forest,  and  seemed  to  drive  before  it 
thin  sheets  of  moonlight  that  turned  the  whole  world 
soft.  The  village  lay  cosily  dreaming  beneath  the 
sky.  Once  the  curfew  died  away  there  was  only 
the  rustling  of  the  plane  trees  in  the  old  courtyard. 
The  great  Citadelle  loomed  above  the  smaller 
houses,  half  in  shadow  half  in  silver,  nodding 
heavily  to  the  spire  of  the  Church,  and  well  within 
sight  of  the  sentinelk  poplar  that  guarded  the  village 
from  the  forest  and  the  mountains.  Far  away,  these 
mountains  now  lowered  their  enormous  shoulders 
to  let  night  flow  down  upon  the  sleeping  world. 
The  Scaffolding  that  brought  it  had  long  since  sailed 
over  France  towards  the  sea.  .   .  . 

Mother,  still  panting  from  the  ritual  of  fastening 
the  younger  children  into  bed,  had  gone  a  moment 
down  the  passage  to  say  good-night  to  Mile.  Lemaire, 
and  when  she  returned,  the  three  of  them — herself, 

383 


384       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        chap. 

her  husband,  and  Cousin  Henry — dropped  into 
chairs  beside  the  window  and  watched  the  silvery 
world  in  silence  for  a  time.  None  felt  inclined  to 
speak.  There  was  drama  somehow  in  that  interval 
of  silence — that  drama  which  lurks  everywhere  and 
always  behind  life's  commonest,  most  ordinary 
moments.  Actions  reveal  it — sometimes — but  it 
mostly  lies  concealed,  and  especially  in  deep  silences 
like  this,  when  the  ticking  of  a  cuckoo  clock  upon 
the  wall  may  be  the  sole  hint  of  its  presence. 

It  was  not  the  good-byes  that  made  all  three 
realise  it  so  near,  though  good-byes  are  always 
solemn  and  momentous  things  ;  it  was  something 
that  stirred  and  rose  upon  them  from  a  far  deeper 
strata  of  emotion  than  that  caused  by  apparent 
separation.  For  no  pain  lay  in  it,  but  a  power  much 
more  difficult  to  express  in  the  sounds  and  syllables 
of  speech — Joy.  A  great  joy,  creative  and  of  big 
significance,  had  known  accomplishment.  Each  felt 
it,  knew  it,  realised  it.  The  moonlit  night  was  aware 
of  it.  The  entire  universe  knew  it,  too.  The  drama 
lay  in  that.  There  had  been  creation — of  more 
light.  .  .  .  The  world  was  richer  than  it  had  been. 
Some  one  had  caught  Beauty  in  a  net,  and  to  catch 
Beauty  is  to  transform  and  recreate  all  common 
things.     It  is  revelation. 

Through  the  mind  of  each  of  these  three  flowed 
the  stream  of  casual  thinking — images,  reflections, 
and  the  shadowy  scaffoldings  of  many  new  emotions 
— sweeping  along  between  the  banks  of  speech  and 
silence.  And  this  stream,  though  in  flood,  did  not 
overflow  into  words  for  a  long  time.  With  eyes 
turned  inwards,  each  watched  the  current  pass. 
Clear  and  deep,  it  quietly  reflected — stars.  Each 
watched  the  same  stream,  the  same  calm  depths,  the 


xxvii       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        385 

same  delicate  reflections.  They  were  in  harmony 
with  themselves,  and  therefore  with  the  universe.  .  .  . 

Then,  suddenly,  one  of  the  reflections — it  was  the 
Pleiades — rose  to  the  surface  to  clasp  its  lovely 
original.  It  was  the  woman  who  netted  the 
golden  thought  and  drew  it  forth  for  all  to  see. 

'  Couldn't  you  read  it  to  us,  Daddy  ?  '  she 
whispered  softly  across  the  silence. 

'  If  it's  not  too  long  for  you.'  He  was  so  eager, 
so  willing  to  comply. 

'  We  will  listen  till  the  Morning  Spiders  take  us 
home,'  his  cousin  said. 

'  It's  only  the  shorter  version,'  Daddy  agreed 
shiningly,  '  a  sketch  for  the  book  which,  of  course, 
will  take  a  year  to  write.  I  might  read  that, 
perhaps.' 

'  Do,'  urged  Mother.  '  We  are  all  in  it,  aren't 
we  ?     It's  our  story  as  well  as  yours.' 

He  rose  to  get  the  portfolio  from  the  shelf 
where  he  had  laid  it,  and  while  Rogers  lit  the 
lamp,  Riquette  stole  in  at  the  window,  picking  her 
way  daintily  across  the  wet  tiles.  She  stood  a 
moment,  silhouetted  against  the  sky  ;  then  shaking 
her  feet  rapidly  each  in  turn  like  bits  of  quivering 
wire,  she  stepped  precisely  into  the  room.  '  I  am 
in  it  too,'  she  plainly  said,  curling  herself  up  on 
the  chair  Daddy  had  just  vacated,  but  resigning 
herself  placidly  enough  to  his  scanty  lap  when  he 
came  back  again  and  began  to  read.  Her  deep 
purring,  while  he  stroked  her  absent-mindedly, 
became  an  undercurrent  in  the  sound  of  his  voice, 
then  presently  ceased  altogether.   .   .   . 

On  and  on  he  read,  while  the  moon  sailed  over 
La  Citadelle,  bidding  the  stars  hush  to  listen  too. 
She  put  her  silvery  soft  hands  across  their  eyes  that 

2  c 


386        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

they  might  hear  the  better.  The  blue  wind  of  night 
gathered  up  the  meaning  and  spread  it  everywhere. 
The  forest  caught  the  tale  from  the  low  laughter  in 
the  crest  of  the  poplar,  and  passed  it  on  to  the 
leagues  of  forest  that  bore  it  in  turn  across  the 
frontiers  into  France.  Thence  snowy  Altels  and  the 
giant  Blilmlisalp  flashed  it  south  along  the  crowding 
peaks  and  down  among  the  Italian  chestnut  woods, 
who  next  sent  it  coursing  over  the  rustling  waves 
of  the  Adriatic  and  mixed  it  everywhere  with  the 
Mediterranean  foam.  In  the  morning  the  shadows 
upon  bare  Grecian  hills  would  whisper  it  among  the 
ancient  islands,  and  the  East  catch  echoes  of  it  in 
the  winds  of  dawn.  The  forests  of  the  North  would 
open  their  great  gloomy  eyes  with  wonder,  as  though 
strange  new  wild-flowers  had  come  among  them  in 
the  night.  All  across  the  world,  indeed,  wherever 
there  were  gardened  minds  tender  enough  to  grow 
fairy  seed,  these  flakes  of  thought  would  settle 
down  in  sleep,  and  blossom  in  due  season  into  a  crop 
of  magic  beauty. 

He  read  on  and  on.  .  .  .  The  village  listened 
too,  the  little  shadowy  street,  the  familiar  pine  woods, 
the  troubled  Pension,  each,  as  its  image  was  evoked 
in  the  story,  knew  its  soul  discovered,  and  stirred  in 
its  sleep  towards  the  little  room  to  hear.  And  the 
desolate  ridges  of  La  Tourne  and  Boudry,  the  clefts 
where  the  wild  lily  of  the  valley  grew  unknown, 
high  nooks  and  corners  where  the  buzzards  nested, 
these  also  knew  and  answered  to  the  trumpet 
summons  of  the  Thought  that  made  them  live.  A 
fire  of  creation  ran  pulsing  from  this  centre.  All 
were  in  the  Pattern  of  the  Story. 

To  the  two  human  listeners  it  seemed  as  familiar 
as  a  tale  read  in  childhood  long  ago,  and  only  half 


xxvii       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        387 

forgotten.  They  always  knew  a  little  of  what  was 
coming  next.  Yet  it  spread  so  much  further  than 
mere  childhood  memories,  for  its  golden  atmosphere 
included  all  countries  and  all  times.  It  rose  and 
sang  and  sparkled,  lighting  up  strange  deep  recesses 
of  their  unconscious  and  half-realised  life,  and  almost 
revealing  the  tiny  silver  links  that  joined  them  on 
to  the  universe  at  large.  The  golden  ladders  from 
the  Milky  Way  were  all  let  down.  They  climbed 
up  silvery  ropes  into  the  Moon.   .   .   . 

'  It's  not  my  own  idea,'  he  said  ;  '  I'm  convinced 
of  that.  It's  all  flocked  into  me  from  some  other 
mind  that  thought  it  long  ago,  but  could  not  write 
it,  perhaps.  No  thought  is  lost,  you  see — never  can 
be  lost.     Like  this,  somehow,  I  feel  it  : — 

Now  sinks  to  sleep  the  clamour  of  the  day, 
And,  million-footed,  from  the  Milky  Way, 
Falls  shyly  on  my  heart  the  world's  lost  Thought — 
Shower  of  primrose  dust  the  stars  have  taught 

To  haunt  each  sleeping  mind, 

Till  it  may  find 
A  garden  in  some  eager,  passionate  brain 
That,  rich  in  loving-kindness  as  in  pain, 
Shall  harvest  it,  then  scatter  forth  again 
It's  garnered  loveliness  from  heaven  caught. 

Oh,  every  yearning  thought  that  holds  a  tear, 

Yet  finds  no  mission, 

And  lies  untold, 
Waits,  guarded  in  that  labyrinth  of  gold, — 

To  reappear 

Upon  some  perfect  night, 

Deathless — not  old — 

But  sweet  with  time  and  distance, 

And  clothed  as  in  a  vision 

Of  starry  brilliance 

For  the  world's  delight.' 

In  the  pauses,  from  time  to  time,  they  heard  the 


388        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

distant  thunder  of  the  Areuse  as  it  churned  and 
tumbled  over  the  Val  de  Travers  boulders.  The 
Colombier  bells,  as  the  hours  passed,  strung  the 
sentences  together  ;  moonlight  wove  in  and  out  of 
every  adventure  as  they  listened  ;  stars  threaded 
little  chapters  each  to  each  with  their  eternal  golden 
fastenings.  The  words  seemed  written  down  in 
dew,  but  the  dew  crystallised  into  fairy  patterns  that 
instantly  flew  about  the  world  upon  their  mission  of 
deliverance.  In  this  ancient  Network  of  the  Stars 
the  universe  lay  fluttering  ;  and  they  lay  with  it,  all 
prisoners  in  Fairyland. 

For  the  key  of  it  all  was  sympathy,  and  the 
delicate  soul  of  it  was  tender  human  love.  Bour- 
celles,  in  this  magic  tale,  was  the  starting  -  point 
whence  the  Starlight  Expresses  flashed  into  all  the 
world,  even  unto  unvisited,  forgotten  corners  that 
had  known  no  service  hitherto.  It  was  so  adapt- 
able and  searching,  and  knew  such  tiny,  secret  ways 
of  entrance.  The  thought  was  so  penetrating,  true, 
and  simple.  Even  old  Mother  Plume  would  wake 
to  the  recovery  of  some  hitherto  forgotten  fragrance 
in  her  daily  life  .  .  .  just  as  those  Northern  forests 
would  wake  to  find  new  wild-flowers.  For  all  fairy- 
tales issue  first  from  the  primeval  forest,  thence  under- 
going their  protean  transformation  ;  and  in  similar 
fashion  this  story,  so  slight  but  so  tremendous, 
issued  from  the  forest  of  one  man's  underthinking — 
one  deep,  pure  mind,  wumbled  badly  as  far  as 
external  things  were  concerned,  yet  realising  that 
Bourcelles  contained  the  Universe,  and  that  he  in 
turn  contained  Bourcelles.  Another,  it  is  true,  had 
shown  it  to  him,  though  all  unwittingly,  and  had 
cleaned  in  his  atmosphere  the  channels  for  the 
entrance  of  the  glorious  pattern.     But  the  result  was 


xxvii       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        389 

the  same.  In  his  brain — perhaps  by  Chance,  perhaps 
by  God — lay  the  machinery  which  enabled  him  to 
give  it  out  to  others  —  the  power  and  ability  to 
transmit.  It  was  a  fairy-tale  of  the  world,  only  the 
world  had  forgotten  it.  He  brought  back  its  fairy- 
land again. 

And  this  fairyland,  what  and  where  was  it  ?  And 
how  could  this  tale  of  its  recovery  bring  into  his 
listeners'  hearts  such  a  sense  of  peace  and  joy  that 
they  felt  suddenly  secure  in  the  world  and  safe  mid 
all  the  confusion  of  their  muddled  lives  ?  That  there 
were  tears  in  Mother's  eyes  seems  beyond  question, 
because  the  moonlight,  reflected  faintly  from  a  wet 
cobble  in  the  yard  below,  glistened  like  a  tiny  silver 
lantern  there.  They  betrayed  the  fact  that  some- 
thing in  her  had  melted  and  flowed  free.  Yet  there 
was  no  sadness  in  the  fairy-tale  to  cause  it  ;  they 
were  tears  of  joy. 

Surely  it  was  that  this  tale  of  Starlight,  Starlight 
Expresses  and  Star  Caves,  told  as  simply  as  running 
water,  revealed  the  entire  Universe — as  One,  and 
that  in  this  mighty,  splendid  thing  each  of  them 
nested  safe  and  comfortable.  The  world  was  really 
thinking,  and  all  lay  fluttering  in  the  grand,  magnifi- 
cent old  Net  of  Stars.  What  people  think,  they  are. 
All  can  think  Beauty.  And  sympathy — to  feel  with 
everything  —  was  the  clue  ;  for  sympathy  is  love, 
and  to  love  a  star  was  to  love  a  neighbour.  To  be 
without  sympathy  was  to  feel  apart,  and  to  think 
apart  was  to  cut  oneself  off  from  life,  from  the 
Whole,  from  God  and  joy — it  was  Death.  To  work 
at  commonplace  duties  because  they  were  duties  to 
the  Universe  at  large,  this  was  the  way  to  find 
courage,  peace,  and  happiness,  because  this  was 
genuine  and  successful  work,  no  effort  lost,  and  the 


39Q        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

most  distant  star  aware  of  it.  Thinking  was  living, 
whether  material  results  were  visible  or  not ;  yearn- 
ing was  action,  even  though  no  accomplishment  was 
apparent  ;  thought  and  sympathy,  though  felt  but 
for  a  passing  moment,  sweetened  the  Pleiades  and 
flashed  along  the  Milky  Way,  and  so-called  tangible 
results  that  could  prove  it  to  the  senses  provided  no 
adequate  test  of  accomplishment  or  success.  In  the 
knowledge  of  belonging  to  this  vast  underlying  unity 
was  the  liberation  that  brings  courage,  carelessness,  and 
joy,  and  to  admit  failure  in  anything,  by  thinking  it, 
was  to  weaken  the  entire  structure  which  binds  together 
the  planets  and  the  heart  of  a  boy.  Thoughts  were 
the  fairies  that  the  world  believed  in  when  it  was 
younger,  simpler,  less  involved  in  separation  ;  and 
the  golden  Fairyland  recovered  in  this  story  was  the 
Fairyland  of  lovely  thinking.   .  .  . 

In  this  little  lamp-lit  room  of  the  Citadelle,  the 
two  listeners  were  conscious  of  this  giant,  delicate 
network  that  captured  every  flying  thought  and 
carried  it  streaming  through  the  world.  God  became 
a  simple  thing  :  He  fashioned  Rogers's  Scheme,  even 
though  it  never  materialised  in  bricks  and  mortar. 
God  was  behind  Mother,  even  when  she  knitted  or 
lit  the  fire  in  the  Den.  All  were  prisoners  in  His 
eternal  Fairyland.   .   .   . 

And  the  symbolism  of  the  story,  the  so-called 
fantasy,  they  also  easily  understood,  because  they 
felt  it  true.  To  be  '  out '  of  the  body  was  merely 
to  think  and  feel  away  from  self.  As  they  listened 
they  realised  themselves  in  touch  with  every  nation 
and  with  every  time,  with  all  possible  beliefs  and 
disbeliefs,  with  every  conceivable  kind  of  thinking, 
that  is,  which  ever  has  existed  or  ever  shall  exist.  .  .  . 

The   heat   and   radiance  given   out  by   the   clear 


xxvii       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        391 

delivery  of  this  '  inspirational '  fairy-tale  must  have 
been  very  strong  ;  far-reaching  it  certainly  was.  .  .  . 

'  Ah  ! '  sighed  Rogers  to  himself,  £  if  only  I  could 
be  like  that !  '  not  realising  that  he  was  so. 

'  Oh  dear  ! '  felt  the  Woman,  '  that's  what  I've 
felt  sometimes.  I  only  wish  it  were  true  of  me  !  ' 
unaware  that  it  could  be,  and  even  by  the  fact  of  her 
yearning,  was  so. 

'  If  only  I  could  get  up  and  help  the  world  !  ' 
passed  like  a  flame  across  the  heart  of  the  sufferer 
who  lay  on  her  sleepless  bed  next  door,  listening  to 
the  sound  of  the  droning  voice  that  reached  her 
through  the  wall,  yet  curiously  ignorant  that  this 
very  longing  was  already  majestically  effective  in  the 
world  of  definite  action. 

And  even  Mother  Plume,  pacing  her  airless  room 
at  the  further  end  of  the  village  and  tapping  her 
ebony  stick  upon  the  floor,  turned  suspiciously,  as  at 
a  passing  flash  of  light  that  warmed  her  for  a  sudden 
instant  as  it  went. 

'  Perhaps,  after  all,  they  don't  mean  all  these 
unkind  things  they  do  to  me  !  '  she  thought  ;  '  I  live 
so  much  alone.  Possibly  I  see  things  less  clearly 
than  I  used  to  do  !  ' 

The  spell  was  certainly  very  potent,  though  Daddy 
himself,  reading  out  the  little  shining  chapters,  guessed 
as  little  as  the  rest  of  them  how  strong.  So  small  a 
part  of  what  he  meant  to  say,  it  seemed,  had  been 
transferred  to  the  paper.  More  than  he  realised,  far, 
far  more,  lay  between  the  lines,  of  course.  There 
was  conviction  in  it,  because  there  was  vision  and 
belief. 

Not  much  was  said  when  he  put  his  roll  of  paper 
down  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair.     Riquette  opened 


392        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

her  eyes  and  blinked  narrowly,  then  closed  them 
again  and  began  to  purr.  The  ticking  of  the  cuckoo 
clock  seemed  suddenly  very  loud  and  noticeable. 

'  Thank  you,'  said  Mother  quietly  in  an  un- 
certain kind  of  voice.  '  The  world  seems  very 
wonderful  now — quite  different.' 

She  moved  in  her  chair — the  first  movement  she 
had  made  for  over  two  hours.  Daddy  rubbed  his 
eyes,  stroked  his  beard,  and  lit  a  cigarette  ;  it  went 
out  almost  immediately,  but  he  puffed  on  at  it  just 
the  same,  till  his  cousin  struck  a  match  and  stood 
over  him  to  see  it  properly  alight. 

'  You  have  caught  Beauty  naked  in  your  net  of 
stars,'  he  murmured  ;  '  but  you  have  left  her  as  you 
found  her — shining,  silvery,  unclothed.  Others  will 
see  her,  too.  You  have  taken  us  all  back  into  Fairy- 
land, and  I,  for  one,  shall  never  get  out  again.' 

'  Nor  I,'  breathed  some  one  in  the  shadows  by  the 
window.   .   .   . 

The  clock  struck  two.  '  Odd,'  said  Mother, 
softly,  '  but  I  never  heard  it  strike  once  while  you 
were  reading  ! ' 

'  We've  all  been  out,'  Rogers  laughed  signifi- 
cantly, 'just  as  you  make  them  get  out  in  the  story ' ; 
and  then,  while  Riquette  yawned  and  turned  a 
moment  from  the  window-sill  to  say  thank  you  for 
her  long,  warm  sleep,  Mother  lit  the  spirit-lamp  and 
brewed  the  cups  of  chocolate.  She  tiptoed  in  next 
door,  and  as  she  entered  the  sick-room  she  saw 
through  the  steam  rising  from  the  cup  she  carried  a 
curious  thing — an  impression  of  brilliance  about  the 
bed,  as  though  shafts  of  light  issued  from  it.  Rays 
pulsed  and  trembled  in  the  air.  There  was  a  perfume 
of  flowers.  It  seemed  she  stepped  back  into  the 
atmosphere  of  the  story  for  an  instant. 


xxvn       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        393 

'  Ah,  you're  not  asleep,'  she  whispered.  '  We've 
brewed  some  chocolate,  and  I  thought  you  might 
like  a  cup.' 

'  No,  I'm  not  asleep,'  answered  the  other  woman 
from  the  bed  she  never  would  leave  until  she  was 
carried  from  it,  '  but  I  have  been  dreaming.  It 
seemed  the  stars  came  down  into  my  room  and  sang 
to  me  ;  this  bed  became  a  throne  ;  and  some  power 
was  in  me  by  which  I  could  send  my  thoughts  out 
to  help  the  world.  I  sent  them  out  as  a  king  sends 
messengers — to  people  everywhere — even  to  people 
I've  never  heard  of.     Isn't  it  wonderful  ? ' 

'  You've  had  no  pain  ? '  For  Mother  knew  that 
these  sleepless  hours  at  night  brought  usually  intense 
suffering.  She  stared  at  her,  noting  how  the  eyes 
shone  and  glistened  with  unshed  moisture. 

'None,'  was  the  answer,  'but  only  the  greatest 
joy  and  peace  I've  ever  known.'  The  little  glass  of 
calmant  was  untouched  ;  it  was  not  a  drug  that 
had  soothed  the  exhausted  nerves.  In  this  room  at 
any  rate  the  spell  was  working  still.  '  I  was  carried 
through  the  air  by  stars,  as  though  my  ceaseless  yearn- 
ing to  get  up  and  work  in  the  world  for  once  was 
realised.' 

'You  can  do  everything  from  your  bed,'  her 
friend  murmured,  sitting  down  beside  her.  '  You 
do.  Your  thoughts  go  out  so  strongly.  I've  often 
felt  them  myself.  Perhaps  that's  why  God  put  you 
here  in  bed  like  this,'  she  added,  surprised  at  the 
power  in  herself  that  made  her  say  such  things — 
'just  to  think  and  pray  for  the  world.' 

'  I  do  pray  sometimes  for  others,'  the  tortured 
woman  answered  modestly,  '  but  this  time  I  was  not 
conscious  of  praying  at  all.  It  all  swept  out  of  me 
of  its  own  accord.     The  force  in  me  seemed  so  free 


394       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

and  inexhaustible  that  it  overflowed.  It  was  irresist- 
ible.    I  felt  able  to  save  the  world.' 

'  You  were  out,'  said  Mother  softly,  '  out  of  your- 
self, I  mean,'  she  corrected  it.  '  And  your  lovely 
thoughts  go  everywhere.     You  do  save  the  world.' 

There  fell  a  long  silence  then  between  them. 

'  You've  been  reading  aloud,'  Mile.  Lemaire  said 
presently.  '  I  heard  the  drone  of  the  voice  through 
the  wall ' 

'  Daddy  was  reading  his  new  story  to  us,'  the 
other  said.     '  It  didn't  disturb  you  ? ' 

'  On  the  contrary.  I  think  it  was  the  voice  some- 
how that  brought  the  vision.  I  listened  vaguely  at 
first,  trying  to  sleep  ;  then,  opening  my  eyes  sud- 
denly, the  room,  as  I  told  you,  was  full  of  stars. 
Their  rays  caught  hold  of  me  and  drew  these  forces 
out  of  my  very  heart.  I  yielded,  giving  and  giving 
and  giving  .  .  .  such  life  flowed  from  me,  and 
they  carried  it  away  in  streams.  .  .  .  Oh,  it  was 
really  like  a  divine  sensation.' 

'  It  was  divine,'  said  Mother,  but  whether  she 
meant  the  story  or  her  friend's  experience,  she  hardly 
knew  herself. 

'  And  the  story — was  it  not  about  our  little 
Bourcelles  ? '  asked  the  other. 

Mother  held  her  hands  up  as  though  words  failed 
her.  She  opened  her  arms  wide.  She  was  not  quite 
sure  of  her  voice. 

1  It  was,'  she  said  at  length,  '  but  Bourcelles  had 
grown  into  the  universe.  It's  a  fairy-tale,  but  it's 
like  a  great  golden  fire.  It  warmed  my  heart  till 
my  whole  body  seemed  all  heart,  and  I  didn't  know 
whether  to  laugh  or  cry.  It  makes  you  see  that  the 
whole  world  is  one,  and  that  the  sun  and  moon  and 
stars   lie   in   so   small   and  unimportant  a  thing   as, 


xxvn       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        395 

say,  Jimbo's  mischief,  or  Monkey's  impudence,  or 
Jinny's  backwardness  and  absurdity.  All  are  in 
sympathy  together,  as  in  a  network,  and  to  feel  sym- 
pathy with  anything,  even  the  most  insignificant, 
connects  you  instantly  with  the  Whole.  Thought 
and  sympathy  are  the  Universe — they  are  life.' 

While  Mother  paused  for  breath,  her  old  friend 
smiled  a  curious,  meaning  smile,  as  though  she  heard 
a  thing  that  she  had  always  known. 

'  And  all  of  us  are  in  the  story,  and  all  the  things 
we  think  are  alive  and  active  too,  because  we  have 
created  them.  Our  thoughts  populate  the  world, 
flying  everywhere  to  help  or  hinder  others,  you  see.' 

The  sound  of  a  door  opening  was  heard.  Mother 
got  up  to  go.  Shafts  of  light  again  seemed  to  follow 
her  from  the  figure  in  the  bed. 

1  Good-night,'  she  whispered  with  a  full  heart, 
while  her  thought  ran  suddenly — 'You  possess  the 
secret  of  life  and  of  creation,  for  suffering  has  taught 
it  to  you,  and  you  have  really  known  it  always.  But 
Daddy  has  put  it  into  words  for  everybody.'  She 
felt  proud  as  a  queen. 

There  were  whispered  good-nights  then  in  the 
corridor,  for  Rogers  and  her  husband  were  on  their 
way  home  to  bed. 

'Your  chocolate  is  getting  cold,'  said  Daddy 
kindly. 

'  We  thought  you  would  probably  stay  in  there. 
We're  going  over  now.  It's  very  late,'  Rogers 
added.     They  said  good-night  again. 

She  closed  and  locked  the  great  door  of  the  Cita- 
delle  behind  them,  hearing  their  steps  upon  the 
cobbles  in  the  yard,  and  for  some  time  afterwards 
upon  the  road.  But  their  going  away  seemed  the 
same  as  coming  nearer.     She  felt  so  close  to  every- 


396       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND  ch.  xxvm 

thing  that  lived.  Everything  did  live.  Her  heart 
included  all  that  existed,  that  ever  had  existed,  that 
ever  could  exist.  Mother  was  alive  all  over.  '  I 
have  just  been  created,'  she  laughed,  and  went  back 
into  the  Den  to  drink  her  cup  of  tepid  chocolate. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

See,  the  busy  Pleiades, 
Sisters  to  the  Hyades, 
Seven  by  seven 
Across  the  heaven, 
Light  desire 
With  their  fire, 
Working  cunningly  together  in  a  soft  and  tireless  band, 
Sweetly  linking 
All  our  thinking 
In  the  Net  of  Sympathy  that  brings  back  Fairyland. 

A  Voice, 

The  prophecy  of  the  children  that  Bourcelles  was  a 
difficult  place  to  get  away  from  found  its  justification 
next  morning,  for  Rogers  slept  so  heavily  that  he 
nearly  missed  his  train.  It  was  six  o'clock  when  he 
tumbled  downstairs,  too  late  for  a  real  breakfast, 
and  only  just  in  time  to  get  his  luggage  upon  the 
little  char  that  did  duty  for  all  transport  in  this  un- 
sophisticated village.  The  carpenter  pulled  it  for 
him  to  the  station. 

'  If  I've  forgotten  anything,  my  cousin  will  send 
it  after  me,'  he  told  Mme.  Michaud,  as  he  gulped 
down  hot  coffee  on  the  steps. 

'  Or  we  can  keep  it  for  you,'  was  the  answer. 
'  You'll  be  coming  back  soon.'  She  knew,  like  the 
others,  that  one  always  came  back  to  Bourcelles.  She 
shook  hands  with  him  as  if  he  were  going  away  for 
a  night  or  two.     '  Your  room  will  always  be  ready,' 

397 


398        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

she  added.  '  Ayez  la  bonte  seulement  de  m'envoyer 
une  petite  ligne  d'avance.' 

'  There's  only  fifteen  minutes,'  interrupted  her 
husband,  '  and  it's  uphill  all  the  way.' 

They  trundled  off"  along  the  dusty  road,  already 
hot  in  the  early  July  sun.  There  was  no  breath  of 
wind  ;  swallows  darted  in  the  blue  air ;  the  perfume  of 
the  forests  was  everywhere  ;  the  mountains  rose  soft 
and  clear  into  the  cloudless  sky.  They  passed  the 
Citadeile,  where  the  awning  was  already  being  lowered 
over  the  balcony  for  Mile.  Lemaire's  bed  to  be 
wheeled  out  a  little  later.  Rogers  waved  his  hand- 
kerchief, and  saw  the  answering  flutter  inside  the 
window.  Riquette,  on  her  way  in,  watched  him  from 
the  tiles.  The  orchards  then  hid  the  lower  floors  ; 
he  passed  the  tinkling  fountain  ;  to  the  left  he  saw 
the  church  and  the  old  Pension,  the  wistaria  blossoms 
falling  down  its  walls  in  a  cascade  of  beauty. 

The  Postmaster  put  his  head  out  and  waved  his 
Trilby  hat  with  a  solemn  smile.  '  Le  barometre  est 
tres  haut  .  .  .'  floated  down  the  village  street,  instead 
of  the  sentence  of  good-bye.  Even  the  Postmaster 
took  it  for  granted  that  he  was  not  leaving.  Gygi, 
standing  in  the  door  of  his  barn,  raised  his  peaked  hat 
and  smiled.  '  Fait  beau,  ce  matin,'  he  said,  '  plus  tard 
il  fera  rudement  chaud.'  He  spoke  as  if  Rogers 
were  off  for  a  walk  or  climb.  It  was  the  same  every- 
where. The  entire  village  saw  him  go,  yet  behaved 
as  if  he  was  not  really  leaving.  How  fresh  and  sweet 
the  morning  air  was,  keen  mountain  fragrance  in  it, 
and  all  the  delicious,  delicate  sharpness  of  wet  moss 
and  dewy  fields. 

As  he  passed  the  courtyard  near  the  Guillaume 
Tell,  and  glanced  up  at  the  closed  windows  of  Mother 
Plume's    apartment,    a   pattering    step    startled    him 


xxvm      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        399 

behind,  and  Jimbo  came  scurrying  up.  Rogers  kissed 
him  and  lifted  him  bodily  upon  the  top  of  his 
portmanteau,  then  helped  the  carpenter  to  drag  it 
up  the  hill.  '  The  barriers  at  the  level  crossing  are 
down,  the  warning  gongs  are  ringing.  It's  signalled 
from  Auvernier.'  They  were  only  just  in  time.  The 
luggage  was  registered  and  the  train  panting  up  the 
steep  incline,  when  Monkey,  sleep  still  thick  in  her 
eyes,  appeared  rolling  along  the  white  road.  She 
was  too  breathless  to  speak  ;  she  stood  and  stared 
like  a  stuffed  creature  in  a  Museum.  Jimbo  was 
beside  the  engine,  having  a  word  with  the  mecanicien. 

'  Send  a  telegram,  you  know  —  like  that,'  he 
shouted,  as  the  carriage  slid  past  him,  '  and  we'll 
bring  the  char.'  He  knew  his  leader  would  come 
back.  He  took  his  cap  off  politely,  as  a  man  does 
to  a  lady — the  Bourcelles  custom.  He  did  not  wave 
his  handkerchief  or  make  undignified  signs.  He 
stood  there,  watching  his  cousin  to  the  last,  and  trying 
to  see  the  working  of  the  engine  at  the  same  time. 
He  had  already  told  him  the  times  and  stopping 
places,  and  where  he  had  to  change  ;  there  was  nothing 
more  for  a  man  to  say. 

Monkey,  her  breath  recovered  now,  shouted 
something  impudent  from  the  road.  '  The  train  will 
break  down  with  you  in  it  before  it  gets  to  Pontarlier, 
and  you'll  be  back  for  tea — worse  luck  ! '  He  heard 
it  faintly,  above  the  grinding  of  the  wheels.  She  blew 
him  a  kiss  ;  her  hair  flew  out  in  a  cloud  of  brown 
the  sunshine  turned  half  golden.  He  almost  saw 
the  shining  of  her  eyes.  And  then  the  belt  of  the 
forest  hid  her  from  view,  hid  Jimbo  and  the  village 
too.  The  last  thing  he  saw  of  Bourcelles  was  the 
top  of  the  church  spire  and  the  red  roof  of  the  tower- 
ing Citadelle.     The  crest  of  the  sentinel  poplar  topped 


4oo        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

them  both  for  a  minute  longer,  waved  a  slight  and 
stately  farewell,  then  lowered  itself  into  the  forest 
and  vanished  in  its  turn. 

And  Rogers  came  back  with  a  start  and  a  bump 
to  what  is  called  real  life. 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  leaned  back  in  his  corner, 
feeling  he  had  suddenly  left  his  childhood  behind  him 
for  the  second  time,  not  gradually  as  it  ought  to 
happen,  but  all  in  one  dreadful  moment.  A  great 
ache  lay  in  his  heart.  The  perfect  book  of  fairy-tales 
he  had  been  reading  was  closed  and  finished.  Weeks 
had  passed  in  the  delicious  reading,  but  now  the  last 
page  was  turned  ;  he  came  back  to  duty — duty  in 
London — great,  noisy,  overwhelming  London,  with  its 
disturbing  bustle,  its  feverish  activities,  its  complex, 
artificial,  unsatisfying  amusements,  and  its  hosts  of 
frantic  people.  He  grew  older  in  a  moment ;  he 
was  forty  again  now ;  an  instant  ago,  just  on  the 
further  side  of  those  blue  woods,  he  had  been  fifteen. 
Life  shrank  and  dwindled  in  him  to  a  little,  ugly, 
unattractive  thing.  He  was  returning  to  a  flat  in  the 
dolorous  edifice  of  civilisation.  A  great  practical 
Scheme,  rising  in  sombre  bricks  and  mortar  through 
a  disfiguring  fog,  blocked  all  the  avenues  of  the 
future. 

The  picture  seemed  sordid  somewhere,  the  contrast 
was  so  striking.  In  a  great  city  was  no  softness  ; 
hard,  sharp  angles  everywhere,  or  at  best  an  artificial 
smoothness  that  veiled  ugliness  and  squalor  very 
thinly.  Human  relationship  worked  like  parts  of  a 
machine,  cramped  into  definite  orbits,  each  wheel, 
each  pulley,  the  smallest  deviation  deemed  erratic. 
In  Bourcelles,  the  mountain  village,  there  was  more 
latitude,  room    for    expansion,    space.       The    heart 


jcxvm      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       4ot 

leaped  up  spontaneously  like  a  spring  released.  In 
the  city  this  spring  was  held  down  rigidly  in  place, 
pressed  under  as  by  a  weight  ;  and  the  weight,  surely, 
was  that  one  for  ever  felt  compelled  to  think  of  self — 
self  in  a  rather  petty,  shameful  way — personal  safety. 
In  the  streets,  in  the  houses,  in  public  buildings,  shops, 
and  railway  stations,  even  where  people  met  to  eat 
and  drink  in  order  to  keep  alive,  were  Notice  Boards 
of  caution  and  warning  against  their  fellow  kind. 
Instead  of  the  kindly  and  unnecessary,  even  ridiculous 
little  Gygi,  there  were  big,  grave  policemen  by  the 
score,  a  whole  army  of  them  ;  and  everywhere  grinned 
the  Notice  Boards,  like  automatic,  dummy  policemen, 
mocking  joy  with  their  insulting  warnings.  The 
heart  was  oppressed  with  this  constant  reminder  that 
safety  could  only  be  secured  by  great  care  and  trouble 
— safety  for  the  little  personal  self ;  protection  from 
all  kinds  of  robbery,  depredation,  and  attack  ;  beware 
of  pickpockets,  the  proprietor  is  not  responsible  for 
overcoats  and  umbrellas  even  !  And  burglar  alarms 
and  doors  of  steel  and  iron  everywhere — an  organised 
defence  from  morning  till  night — against  one's  own 
kind. 

He  had  lived  among  these  terrible  conditions  all 
his  life,  proud  of  the  personal  security  that  civilisation 
provided,  but  he  had  never  before  viewed  it  from 
outside,  as  now  he  suddenly  did.  A  spiritual  being, 
a  man,  lives  in  a  city  as  in  a  state  of  siege  among  his 
own  kind.  It  was  deplorable,  it  was  incredible.  In 
little  Bourcelles,  a  mountain  village  most  would 
describe  pityingly  as  half  civilised  and  out  of  the 
world,  there  was  safety  and  joy  and  freedom  as  of 
the  universe.  .  .  .  His  heart  contracted  as  he  thus 
abruptly  realised  the  distressing  contrast.  Although 
a  city  is  a  unit,  all  classes  neatly  linked  together  by 

2  D 


4o2        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap, 

laws  and  by-laws,  by  County  Councils,  Parliaments, 
and  the  like,  the  spirit  of  brotherhood  was  a  mockery 
and  a  sham.  There  is  organised  charity,  but  there  is 
not — Charity.  In  a  London  Square  he  could  not 
ring  the  bell  and  ask  for  a  glass  of  milk.  ...  In 
Bourcelles  he  would  walk  into  any  house,  since  there 
were  no  bells,  and  sit  down  to  an  entire  meal ! 

He  laughed  as  the  absurd  comparison  darted  across 
his  mind,  for  he  recognised  the  foolish  exaggeration 
in  it ;  but  behind  the  laughter  flamed  the  astonishing 
truth.  In  Bourcelles,  in  a  few  weeks,  he  had  found 
a  bigger,  richer  life  than  all  London  had  supplied 
to  him  in  twenty  years ;  he  had  found  wings, 
inspiration,  love,  and  happiness  ;  he  had  found  the 
universe.  The  truth  of  his  cousin's  story  blazed  upon 
him  like  an  inner  sun.  In  this  new  perspective  he 
saw  that  it  was  a  grander  fairy-tale  than  he  had 
guessed  even  when  close  to  it.  What  was  a  Scheme 
for  Disabled  Thingumabobs  compared  to  the  endless, 
far-reaching  schemes  that  life  in  Bourcelles  suggested 
to  him  !  There  was  the  true  centre  of  life  ;  cities 
were  accretions  of  disease  upon  the  surface  merely ! 
He  was  leaving  Fairyland  behind  him. 

In  sudden  moments  like  this,  with  their  synthetic 
bird's-eye  view,  the  mind  sometimes  sees  more  clearly 
than  in  hours  of  careful  reflection  and  analysis.  And 
the  first  thing  he  saw  now  was  Minks,  his  friendly, 
ridiculous  little  confidential  secretary.  From  all  the 
crowds  of  men  and  women  he  knew,  respected,  and 
enjoyed  in  London,  as  from  the  vast  deluge  of  human 
mediocrity  which  for  him  was  London,  he  picked  out 
suddenly  —  little  Minks  —  Herbert  Montmorency 
Minks.  His  mind,  that  is,  darting  forward  in  swift, 
comprehensive  survey,  and  searching  automatically  for 
some  means  whereby  it  might  continue  the  happiness 


xxvni      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       403 

and  sweetness  recently  enjoyed,  selected  Minks. 
Minks  was  a  clue.  Minks  possessed — no  matter  how 
absurd  the  proportions  of  their  mixing  —  three 
things  just  left  behind  :  Vision,  Belief,  Simplicity,  all 
products  of  a  spiritual  imagination. 

And  at  first  this  was  the  single  thought  sent 
forward  into  the  future.  Rogers  saw  the  fact,  flash- 
like and  true — then  let  it  go,  yielding  to  the  greater 
pull  that  drew  reflection  back  into  the  past. 

And  he  found  it  rather  dislocating,  this  abrupt 
stepping  out  of  his  delightful  forest  Fairyland.  .  .  . 
Equilibrium  was  not  recovered  for  a  long  time,  as  the 
train  went  thundering  over  the  Jura  Mountains  into 
France.  Only  on  the  other  side  of  Pontarlier,when  the 
country  grew  unfamiliar  and  different,  did  harmony 
return.  Among  the  deep  blue  forests  he  was  still  in 
Fairyland,  but  at  Mouchard  the  scenery  was  already 
changing,  and  by  the  time  D61e  was  reached  it  had 
completely  changed.  The  train  ran  on  among  the 
plains  and  vineyards  of  the  Burgundy  country 
towards  Laroche  and  Dijon.  The  abrupt  alteration, 
however,  was  pain.  His  thoughts  streamed  all 
backwards  now  to  counteract  it.  He  roamed  again 
among  the  starfields  above  the  Bourcelles  woods. 
It  was  true — he  had  not  really  left  Bourcelles.  His 
body  was  bumping  into  Dijon,  but  the  important 
part  of  him — thought,  emotion,  love — lingered  with 
the  children,  hovered  above  the  Citadelle,  floated 
through  the  dusky,  scented  forests. 

And  the  haunting  picture  was  ever  set  in  its 
framework  of  old  burning  stars.  He  could  not  get 
the  Pleiades  in  particular  out  of  his  mind.  The 
pictures  swarmed  past  him  as  upon  a  boy  returning 
to  school  after  the  holidays,  and  each  one  had  a 
background   of  sky  with   stars   behind  it  ;  the  faces 


4o4        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

that  he  knew  so  well  had  starry  eyes  ;  Jimbo  flung 
handfuls  of  stars  loose  across  the  air,  and  Monkey 
caught  them,  fastening  them  like  golden  pins  into 
her  hair.  Glancing  down,  he  saw  a  long  brown  hair 
upon  his  sleeve.  He  picked  it  off  and  held  his 
finger  and  thumb  outside  the  window  till  the  wind 
took  it  away.  Some  Morning  Spider  would  ride  it 
home — perhaps  past  his  cousin's  window  while  he 
copied  out  that  wonderful,  great  tale.  But,  instead — 
how  in  the  world  could  it  happen  in  clear  daylight  ? 
— a  little  hand  shot  down  from  above  and  gathered 
it  in  towards  the  Pleiades. 

The  Pleiades  —  the  Seven  Sisters  —  that  most 
exquisite  cluster  of  the  eastern  sky,  soft,  tender, 
lovely,  clinging  close  together  always  like  a  group 
of  timid  children,  who  hide  a  little  dimly  for  fear  of 
being  surprised  by  bolder  stars  upon  their  enormous 
journey — they  now  shone  down  upon  all  he  thought 
and  remembered.  They  seemed  always  above  the 
horizon  of  his  mind.  They  never  set.  In  them  lay 
souls  of  unborn  children,  children  waiting  to  be 
born.  He  could  not  imagine  why  this  particular 
constellation  clung  with  such  a  haunting  touch  of 
beauty  about  his  mind,  or  why  some  passion  of 
yearning  unconfessed  and  throbbing  hid  behind  the 
musical  name.  Stars  and  unborn  children  had  got 
strangely  mixed  ! 

He  tried  to  recall  the  origin  of  the  name — he  had 
learned  it  once  in  the  old  Vicar's  study.  The 
Pleiades  were  attendants  upon  Artemis,  the  huntress 
moon,  he  recalled  vaguely,  and,  being  pursued  by 
Orion,  were  set  for  safety  among  the  stars.  He  even 
remembered  the  names  of  some  of  them  ;  there  was 
Maia,  Tagete,  Alcyone,  but  the  other  four  lay  in  his 
mental    lumber    room,   whence    they   could    not    be 


xxvin      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        405 

evoked,  although  Merope,  he  felt  sure,  was  one  of 
them.  Of  Maia,  however,  he  felt  positive.  .  .  . 
How  beautiful  the  names  were  ! 

Then,  midway,  in  thinking  about  them,  he  found 
himself,  as  Monkey  said,  thinking  of  something  else  : 
of  his  weeks  at  Bourcelles  again  and  what  a  long 
holiday  it  had  been,  and  whether  it  was  wasted  time 
or  well-used  time — a  kind  of  general  stock-taking, 
as  it  were,  but  chiefly  of  how  little  he  had  accom- 
plished after  all,  set  down  in  black  and  white.  He 
had  enjoyed  himself  and  let  himself  go,  rather 
foolishly  perhaps,  but  how  much  after  all  had  he 
actually  accomplished  ?  He  remembered  pleasant 
conversations  with  Mother  that  possibly  cheered 
and  helped  her — or  possibly  were  forgotten  as  soon 
as  ended.  He  remembered  his  cousin's  passing 
words  of  gratitude — that  he  had  helped  him  some- 
how with  his  great  new  story  :  and  he  remembered 
— this  least  ol  all — that  his  money  had  done  some- 
thing to  relieve  a  case  or  two  of  suffering.  And 
this  was  all  !  The  net  result  so  insignificant !  He 
felt  dissatisfied,  eager  already  to  make  new  plans, 
something  definite  and  thorough  that  should  retrieve 
the  wasted  opportunities.  With  a  little  thought  and 
trouble,  how  easily  he  might  have  straightened  out 
the  tangle  of  his  cousin's  family,  helped  with  the 
education  of  the  growing  children,  set  them  all  upon 
a  more  substantial  footing  generally.  It  was  possible 
still,  of  course,  but  such  things  are  done  best  on  the 
spot,  the  personal  touch  and  presence  of  value  ; 
arranged  by  correspondence  it  becomes  another  thing 
at  once  and  loses  spontaneity.  The  accent  lies  on 
the  wrong  details.  Sympathy  is  watered  by  the 
post.  .  .  .  Importance  lodges  in  angles  not  intended 
for   it.      Master   of  his  time,  with   certain   means  at 


4o6        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

his  disposal,  a  modicum  of  ability  as  well,  he  was 
free  to  work  hard  on  the  side  of  the  angels  wherever 
opportunity  might  offer  ;  yet  he  had  wasted  all 
these  weeks  upon  an  unnecessary  holiday,  frittering 
the  time  away  in  enjoyment  with  the  children.  He 
felt  ashamed  and  mortified  as  the  meagre  record 
stared  him  in  the  face. 

Yet,  curiously  enough,  when  Reason  had  set 
down  the  figures  accurately,  as  he  fancied,  and 
totted  up  the  trifling  totals,  there  flitted  before  him 
something  more  that  refused  to  be  set  down  upon 
the  paper.  The  Ledger  had  no  lines  for  it.  What 
was  it  ?  Why  was  it  pleasant,  even  flattering  ? 
Why  did  it  mitigate  his  discontent  and  lessen  the 
dissatisfied  feeling  ?  It  passed  hovering  in  and 
about  his  thoughts,  though  uncaught  by  actual 
words  ;  and  as  his  mind  played  with  it,  he  felt 
more  hopeful.  He  searched  in  vain  for  a  definition, 
but,  though  fruitless,  the  search  brought  comfort 
somehow.  Something  had  been  accomplished  and 
it  was  due  to  himself,  because  without  his  presence 
it  would  never  have  been  done.  This  hint  slipped 
into  desire,  yearning,  hope — that,  after  all,  a  result 
had  perhaps  been  achieved,  a  result  he  himself  was 
not  properly  aware  of — a  result  of  that  incalculable 
spiritual  kind  that  escapes  the  chains  of  definite 
description.  For  he  recalled — yet  mortified  a  little 
the  memory  should  flatter — that  his  cousin  had 
netted  Beauty  in  his  story,  and  that  Mother  had 
spoken  of  living  with  greater  carelessness  and  peace, 
and  that  each  had  thanked  him  as  though  he  were 
the  cause. 

And  these  memories,  half  thought,  half  feeling, 
were  comforting  and  delicious,  so  that  he  revelled  in 
them  lingeringly,  and   wished   that  they  were  really 


xxvm      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        407 

true.  For,  if  true,  they  were  immensely  significant. 
Any  one  with  a  purse  could  build  a  hospital  or  pay 
an  education  fee,  but  to  be  helpful  because  of  being 
oneself  was  a  vast,  incalculable  power,  something 
direct  from  God  .  .  .  and  his  thoughts,  wandering 
on  thus  between  fact  and  fantasy,  led  him  back  with 
a  deep  inexplicable  thrill  again  to  —  the  Pleiades, 
whose  beauty,  without  their  being  aware  of  it,  shines 
nightly  for  all  who  can  accept  it.  Here  was  the  old, 
old  truth  once  more — that  the  left  hand  must  not 
know  what  the  right  is  doing,  and  that  to  be  is  of 
greater  importance  than  to  do.  Here  was  Fairyland 
once  more,  the  Fairyland  he  had  just  left.  To  think 
beauty  and  love  is  to  become  them,  to  shed  them 
forth  without  realising  it.  A  Fairy  blesses  because 
she  is  a  Fairy,  not  because  she  turns  a  pumpkin  into 
a  coach  and  four.  .  .  .  The  Pleiades  do  not  realise 
how  their  loveliness  may.  .  .  . 

Rogers  started.  For  the  thought  had  borrowed 
a  tune  from  the  rhythm  of  the  wheels  and  sleepers, 
and  he  had  uttered  the  words  aloud  in  his  corner. 
Luckily  he  had  the  carriage  to  himself.  He  flushed. 
Again  a  tender  and  very  exquisite  thing  had  touched 
him  somewhere.  ...  It  was  in  that  involuntary 
connection  his  dreaming  had  found  between  a  Fairy 
and  the  Pleiades.  Wings  of  gauzy  gold  shone 
fluttering  a  moment  before  his  inner  sight,  then 
vanished.  He  was  aware  of  some  one  very  dear 
and  wild  and  tender,  with  amber  eyes  and  little 
twinkling  feet  —  some  one  whom  the  Great  Tale 
brought  almost  within  his  reach.  .  .  .  He  literally 
had  seen  stars  for  an  instant — a  star  !  Its  beauty 
brimmed  him  up.  He  laughed  in  his  corner.  This 
thing,  whatever  it  was,  had  been  coming  nearer  for 
some  time.     These  hints  of  sudden  joy  that  breathe 


4o8        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

upon  a  sensitive  nature,  how  mysterious,  how  wildly 
beautiful,  how  stimulating  they  are  !  But  whence, 
in  the  name  of  all  the  stars,  do  they  come  ?  A 
great  happiness  passed  flaming  through  his  heart,  an 
extraordinary  sense  of  anticipation  in  it — as  though 
he  were  going  to  meet  some  one  who — who — well, 
what  ? — who  was  a  necessity  and  a  delight  to  him, 
the  complement  needed  to  make  his  life  effective — 
some  one  he  loved  abundantly — who  would  love  him 
abundantly  in  return.  He  recalled  those  foolish 
lines  he  had  written  on  sudden  impulse  once,  then 
thrown  away.   .   .   . 

Thought  fluttered  and  went  out.  He  could  not 
seize  the  elusive  cause  of  this  delicious  joy.  It  was 
connected  with  the  Pleiades,  but  how,  where,  why  ? 
Above  the  horizon  of  his  life  a  new  star  was 
swimming  into  glory.  It  was  rising.  The  inex- 
plicable emotion  thrilled  tumultuously,  then  dived 
back  again  whence  it  came.  .  .  It  had  to  do  with 
children  and  with  a  woman,  it  seemed,  for  the  next 
thing  he  knew  was  that  he  was  thinking  of  children, 
children  of  his  own,  and  of  the  deep  yearning  Bourcelles 
had  stirred  again  in  him  to  find  their  Mother  .  .  . 
and,  next,  of  his  cousin's  story  and  that  wonderful 
detail  in  it  that  the  principal  role  was  filled  at  last, 
the  role  in  the  great  Children's  Play  he  himself  had 
felt  was  vacant.  It  was  to  be  filled  by  that  childless 
Mother  the  writer's  imagination  had  discovered  or 
created.  And  again  the  Pleiades  lit  up  his  inner 
world  and  beckoned  to  him  with  their  little  fingers 
of  spun  gold  ;  their  eyes  of  clouded  amber  smiled 
into  his  own.  It  was  most  extraordinary  and  de- 
lightful. There  was  something — come  much  closer 
this  time,  almost  within  reach  of  discovery — some- 
thing he  ought  to  remember  about  them,  something 


xxvm      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       409 

he  had  promised  to  remember,  then  stupidly  for- 
gotten. The  lost,  hidden  joy  was  a  torture.  Yet, 
try  as  he  would,  no  revelation  came  to  clear  the 
matter  up.  Had  he  read  it  somewhere  perhaps  ? 
Or  was  it  part  of  the  Story  his  cousin  had  wumbled 
into  his  ear  when  he  only  partly  listened  ? 

'  I  believe  I  dreamed  it,'  he  smiled  to  himself  at 
last  in  despair.  '  I  do  believe  it  was  a  dream — a 
fragment  of  some  jolly  dream  I  had  in  my  Fairyland 
of  little  Bourcelles  !  ' 

Children,  stars,  Fairyland,  dreams — these  brought 
it  somehow.  His  cousin's  story  also  had  to  do  with 
it,  chiefly  perhaps  after  all — this  great  story. 

1 1  shall  have  to  go  back  there  to  get  hold  of  it 
completely,'  he  added  with  conviction.  He  almost 
felt  as  if  some  one  were  thinking  hard  about  him — 
one  of  the  characters  in  the  story,  it  seemed.  The 
mind  of  some  one  far  away,  as  yet  unknown,  was 
searching  for  him  in  thought,  sending  forth  strong 
definite  yearnings  which  came  to  rest  of  their  own 
accord  in  his  own  being,  a  garden  naturally  suited 
to  their  growth.  The  creations  of  his  boyhood's 
imagination  had  survived,  the  Sweep,  the  Dustman, 
and  the  Lamplighter,  then  why  not  the  far  more 
powerful  creations  in  the  story  .  .  .  ?  Thought  was 
never  lost  ! 

'  But  no  man  in  his  senses  can  believe  such  a 
thing  !  '  he  exclaimed,  as  the  train  ran  booming 
through  the  tunnel. 

'  That's  the  point,'  whispered  a  voice  beside  him. 
1  You  are  out  of  your  senses.  Otherwise  you  could 
not  feel  it  ! ' 

He  turned  sharply.  The  carriage  was  empty  ; 
there  was  no  one  there.  It  was,  of  course,  another 
part   of  himself  that   supplied    the    answer  ;    yet   it 


4io        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

startled  him.  The  blurred  reflection  of  the  lamp, 
he  noticed,  cast  a  picture  against  the  black  tunnel 
wall  that  was  like  a  constellation.  The  Pleiades 
again  1  It  almost  seemed  as  if  the  voice  had  issued 
from  that  false  reflection  in  the  shaking  window- 
pane.   .   .  . 

The  train  emerged  from  the  tunnel.  He  rushed 
out  into  the  blaze  of  the  Interfering  Sun.  The 
lovely  cluster  vanished  like  a  dream,  and  with  it  the 
hint  of  explanation  melted  down  in  dew.  Fields 
sped  past  with  a  group  of  haystacks  whose  tarpaulin 
skirts  spread  and  lifted  in  the  gust  of  wind  the  train 
made.  He  thought  abruptly  of  Mother.  .  .  .  Per- 
haps, after  all,  he  had  taught  her  something,  shown 
her  Existence  as  a  big,  streaming,  endless  thing  in 
which  months  and  years,  possibly  even  life  itself, 
were  merely  little  sections,  each  unintelligible  unless 
viewed  as  portions  of  the  Whole,  and  not  as  separate, 
difficult,  puzzling  items  set  apart.  Possibly  he  had 
drawn  her  map  to  bigger  scale,  increased  her  faith, 
given  her  more  sense  of  repose  and  peace,  more 
courage  therefore.  She  thought  formerly  of  a  day, 
but  not  of  its  relation  to  all  days  before  and  behind. 
She  stuck  her  husband's  '  reviews '  in  the  big  book, 
afflicted  by  the  poor  financial  results  they  represented, 
but  was  unable  to  think  of  his  work  as  a  stage  in 
a  long  series  of  development  and  progress,  no  effort 
lost,  no  single  hope  mislaid.  And  that  was  some- 
thing— if  he  had  accomplished  it.  Only,  he  feared 
he  had  not.  There  was  the  trouble.  There  lay  the 
secret  of  a  certain  ineffectiveness  in  his  character. 
For  he  did  not  realise  that  fear  is  simply  suppressed 
desire,  vivid  signs  of  life,  and  that  desire  is  the 
ultimate  causative  agent  everywhere  and  always. 
'  Behind  Will  stands  Desire,'  and  Desire  is  Action. 


xxviii      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       41 1 

And  if  he  ^^accomplished  this,  how  was  it  done  ? 
Not  by  preaching,  certainly.  Was  it,  then,  simply 
by  being,  thinking,  feeling  it  ?  A  glorious  thought, 
if  true  !  For  assuredly  he  had  this  faculty  of  seeing 
life  whole,  and  even  in  boyhood  he  had  looked  ahead 
over  its  entire  map.  He  had,  indeed,  this  way  of 
relating  all  its  people,  and  all  its  parts  together, 
instead  of  seeing  them  separate,  unintelligible  because 
the  context  was  left  out.  He  lived  intensely  in  the 
present,  yet  looked  backwards  and  forwards  too  at 
the  same  time.  This  large  sympathy,  this  big  com- 
forting vision  was  his  gift.  Consequently  he  believed 
in  Life.  Had  he  also,  then,  the  gift  of  making 
others  feel  and  believe  it  too  .   .   .  ? 

There  he  was  again,  thinking  in  a  circle,  as  Laroche 
flew  past  with  its  empty  platforms,  and  warned  him 
that  Paris  was  getting  close.  He  bumped  out  of 
Fairyland,  yet  tumbled  back  once  more  for  a  final 
reverie  before  the  long  ugly  arms  of  the  city  snatched 
him  finally  out. 

1  To  see  life  whole,'  he  reflected, '  is  to  see  it  glorious 
To  think  one's  self  part  of  humanity  at  large  is  to  bring 
the  universe  down  into  the  heart.  But  to  see  life 
whole,  a  whole  heart  is  necessary.  .  .  .  He's  done  it 
in  that  splendid  story,  and  he  bagged  the  raw  idea 
somehow  from  me.  That's  something  at  any  rate. 
...  So  few  think  Beauty.  .  .  .  But  will  others  see 
it?     That's  the  point !' 

'  No,  it  isn't,'  answered  the  voice  beside  him. 
'  The  point  is  that  he  has  thought  it,  and  the  uni- 
verse is  richer.  Even  if  others  do  not  read  or  under- 
stand, what  he  has  thought  is  there  now,  for  ever  and 
ever.' 

'  True,'  he  reflected,  '  for  that  Beauty  may  float 
down  and  settle  in  other  minds  when  they  least  are 


4i2        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

looking  for  it,  and  ignoring  utterly  whence  comes  the 
fairy  touch.     Divine  !     Delicious  !      Heavenly  !  ' 

'  The  Beauty  he  has  written  came  through  you, 
yet  was  not  yours,'  the  voice  continued  very  faintly. 
1 A  far  more  beautiful  mind  first  projected  it  into 
that  network  which  binds  all  minds  together.  'Twas 
thence  you  caught  it  flying,  and,  knowing  not  how 
to  give  it  shape,  transferred  it  to  another  who  could 
use  it  —  for  others.  .  .  .  Thought  is  Life,  and 
Sympathy  is  living.   .   .   .' 

The  voice  died  away  ;  he  could  not  hear  the 
remainder  clearly  ;  the  passing  scenery  caught  his 
attention  again  ;  during  his  reverie  it  had  been  un- 
noticed utterly.       '  Thought  is  Life,   but  Sympathy 

is  living '  it  rolled  and  poured  through  him  as 

he  repeated  it.  Snatches  of  another  sentence  then 
came  rising  into  him  from  an  immense  distance,  fall- 
ing upon  him  from  immeasurable  heights  —  barely 
audible  : — 

< .  .  .  from  a  mind  that  so  loved  the  Pleiades 
she  made  their  loveliness  and  joy  her  own  .  .  . 
Alcyone,  Merope,  Maia  .  .  .'  It  dipped  away  into 
silence  like  a  flower  closing  for  the  night,  and  the 
train,  he  realised,  was  slackening  speed  as  it  drew  into 
the  hideous  Gare  de  Lyon. 

'  I'll  talk  to  Minks  about  it,  perhaps,'  he  thought, 
as  he  stood  telling  the  Customs  official  that  he  had 
no  brandy,  cigarettes,  or  lace.  '  He  knows  about 
things  like  that.     At  any  rate,  he'll  sympathise.' 

He  went  across  Paris  to  the  Gare  du  Nord,  and 
caught  the  afternoon  boat  train  to  London.  The 
sunshine  glared  up  from  the  baking  streets,  but  he 
never  forgot  that  overhead,  though  invisible,  the 
stars  were  shining  all  the  time — Starlight,  the  most 
tender  and    least   suspected    light   in   all    the   world, 


xxvm      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        413 

shining  bravely  even  when  obscured  by  the  Interfer- 
ing Sun,  and  the  Pleiades,  softest,  sweetest  little 
group  among  them  all. 

And  when  at  eleven  o'clock  he  entered  his  St. 
James's  flat,  he  took  a  store  of  it  shining  in  his  heart, 
and  therefore  in  his  eyes.  Only  that  was  no  difficult 
matter,  for  all  the  lamps  far  up  the  heights  were  lit 
and  gleaming,  and  caught  old  mighty  London  in  their 
gorgeous  net, 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

Think  with  passion 
That  shall  fashion 
Life's  entire  design,  well  planned. 

Woman  of  the  Haystack. 

'You  are  looking  so  wonderfully  well,  Mr.  Rogers/ 
Minks  observed  at  Charing  Cross  Station,  '  the 
passage  across  the  Channel,  I  trust,  was  calm.' 

'  And  yourself  and  Mrs.  Minks  ? '  asked  Rogers, 
looking  into  the  equally  sunburned  face  of  his 
secretary,  remembering  suddenly  that  he  had  been  to 
the  sea  with  his  family ;  '  Frank,  too,  and  the  other 
children  ?     All  well,  I  hope  ?  ' 

'  All  in  excellent  health,  Mr.  Rogers,  thanks  to 
your  generous  thought.      My  wife ' 

'  These  are  the  small  bags,'  the  other  interrupted, 
'  and  here  are  the  keys  for  my  portmanteaux.  There's 
nothing  dutiable.  You  might  bring  them  on  to  the 
flat  while  I  run  over  to  the  Club  for  a  bit  of  supper, 
Minks.' 

'  Certainly,  with  pleasure,  Mr.  Rogers,'  was  the 
beaming  reply.  '  And  Mrs.  Minks  begged  me  to 
tell  you ' 

Only  Rogers  was  already  in  his  taxi-cab  and  out 
of  ear-shot. 

'  How  well  he  looks  ! '  reflected  Minks,  dangling 
the  keys,  accustomed  to  these  abrupt  interruptions, 
and   knowing    that   his'  message    had    been    under- 

4*4 


ch.xxix  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       415 

stood  and  therefore  duly  delivered.  These  cut-off 
sentences  were  like  a  secret  code  between  them. 
1  And  ten  years  younger  !     Almost  like  a  boy  again. 

I  wonder   if '      He   did  not   permit   himself  to 

finish  the  thought.  He  tried  to  remember  if  he 
himself  had  looked  like  that  perhaps  in  the  days  of 
long  ago  when  he  courted  Albinia  Lucy — an  air  of 
joy  and  secrecy  and  an  absent-minded  manner  that 
might  any  moment  flame  into  vehement,  concen- 
trated action.  For  this  was  the  impression  his 
employer  had  made  upon  him.  Only  he  could  not 
quite  remember  those  far-off,  happy  days.  There 
was  ecstasy  in  them  ;  that  he  knew.  And  there 
was  ecstasy  in  Henry  Rogers  now  ;  that  he  divined. 

'  He  oughtn't  to,'  he  reflected,  as  he  hurried  in 
another  taxi  with  the  luggage.  '  All  his  yearnings 
would  be  satisfied  if  he  did,  his  life  flow  into  a  single 
channel  instead  of  into  many.' 

He  did  not  think  about  his  own  position  and  his 
salary. 

'  He  won't,'  he  decided  as  the  cab  stopped  at  the 
door  ;  '  he's  not  that  kind  of  man.'  Minks  had 
insight  ;  he  knew  men.  '  No  artist  ever  ought  to. 
We  are  so  few,  and  the  world  has  need  of  us.'  His 
own  case  was  an  exception  that  had  justified  itself, 
for  he  was  but  a  man  of  talent,  and  talent  did  not 
need  an  exclusive  asceticism  ;  whereas  his  employer 
was  a  man  of  genius,  and  no  one  woman  had  the 
right  to  monopolise  what  was  intended  to  sweeten 
the  entire  universe. 

By  the  time  the  luggage  had  been  taken  up,  he 
had  missed  the  last  tram  home,  and  his  sleep  that 
night  must  in  any  case  be  short.  Yet  he  took  no 
note  of  that.  One  must  live  largely.  A  small 
sacrifice  for  such  a  master  was  nothing  at  all.     He 


4i6        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

lingered,  glancing  now  and  again  at  the  heap  of  corre- 
spondence that  would  occupy  them  next  morning, 
and  sorting  once  more  the  little  pile  that  would 
need  immediate  personal  attention.  He  was  picking 
a  bit  of  disfiguring  fluff  from  his  coat  sleeve 
when  the  door  opened  and  Henry  Rogers  came 
upon  him. 

'  Ah  !  I  waited  a  moment,  Mr.  Rogers.  I 
thought  you  might  have  something  to  say  before  I 
went,  perhaps.' 

1 1  hoped  you  would,  Minks.  I  have  a  great  deal 
to  say.  It  can  wait  till  to-morrow,  really — only  I 
wanted — but,  there  now,  I  forgot ;  you  have  to  get 
down  to  Sydenham,  haven't  you  ?  And  it's  late 
already ' 

'  That's  nothing,  Mr.  Rogers.      I  can  easily  sleep 

in  town.      I  came   prepared,  indeed,   to  do  so ' 

as  though  he,  too,  had  his  Club  and  would  take  a 
bedroom  in  it. 

'  Clever  and  thoughtful  of  you,  Minks  ! ' 

'  Only  you  must  be  tired  after  your  journey,* 
suggested  the  secretary. 

'  Tired  !  "  exclaimed  the  other  vigorously,  *  not  a 
bit  !  I'm  as  fresh  as  a  st — a  daisy,  I  mean.  Come, 
draw  your  chair  up  ;  we'll  have  a  smoke  and  a  little 
chat.  I'm  delighted  to  see  you  again.  How  are 
you  ?      And  how's  everything  ? ' 

Goodness  !  How  bright  his  eyes  were,  how  alert 
his  manner  !  He  looked  so  young,  almost  springy, 
thought  Minks,  as  he  obeyed  decorously,  feeling 
flattered  and  pleased,  yet  at  the  same  time  uneasy  a 
little.  Such  spirits  could  only  proceed,  he  feared, 
from  one  cause.  He  was  a  close  observer,  as  all 
poets  had  need  to  be.  He  would  discover  some  clue 
before  he  went  to  bed,  something  that  should  betray 


xx.x        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        417 

the  true  state  of  affairs.     In  any  case  sleep  would  be 
impossible  unless  he  did. 

'  You  stayed  away  somewhat  longer  than  you 
originally  intended,'  he  ventured  at  length,  having 
briefly  satisfied  his  employer's  question.  '  You  found 
genuine  recreation.  You  needed  it,  I'm  sure.'  He 
glanced  with  one  eye  at  the  letters. 

'  Re-creation,  yes ;  the  very  word.  It  was  difficult 
to  leave.  The  place  was  so  delightful,'  said  Rogers 
simply,  filling  his  pipe  and  lighting  it.  '  A  wonderful 
mountain  village,  Minks,'  he  added,  between  puffs 
of  smoke,  while  the  secretary,  who  had  been  waiting 
for  the  sign,  then  lit  his  own  Virginian  and  smoked 
it  diffidently,  and  with  just  the  degree  of  respect  he 
felt  was  becoming.  He  never  presumed  upon  his 
master's  genial  way  of  treating  him.  He  made  little 
puffs  and  was  very  careful  with  the  ashes. 

'  Ah,  yes,'  he  said  ;  '  I  am  sure  it  must  have  been 
— both  delightful  and — er — difficult  to  leave.'  He 
recalled  the  Margate  sands,  bathing  with  Albinia  and 
digging  trenches  with  the  children.  He  had  written 
many  lyrics  during  those  happy  weeks  of  holiday. 

1  Gave  one,  in  fact,  quite  a  new  view  of  life — and 
work.  There  was  such  space  and  beauty  everywhere. 
And  my  cousin's  children  simply  would  not  let  me  go.' 

There  was  a  hint  of  apology  and  excuse  in  the 
tone  and  words — the  merest  hint,  but  Minks  noticed 
it  and  liked  the  enthusiasm.  '  He's  been  up  to  some 
mischief ;  he  feels  a  little  ashamed  ;  his  work — his 
Scheme — has  been  so  long  neglected  ;  conscience 
pricks  him.  Ha,  ha  ! '  The  secretary  felt  his  first 
suspicion  confirmed.  '  Cousin's  children,'  perhaps  ! 
But  who  else  ? 

'  He  made  a  tactful  reference — oh,  very  slight 
and  tentative — to  the  data  he  had  collected  for  the 

2  E 


4i 8        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

Scheme,  but  the  other  either  did  not  hear  it,  or  did 
not  wish  to  hear  it.  He  brushed  it  aside,  speaking 
through  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke.  Minks  enjoyed  a 
bigger,  braver  puff  at  his  own.  Excitement  grew  in 
him. 

'Just  the  kind  of  place  you  would  have  loved, 
Minks,'  Rogers  went  on  with  zeal.  '  I  think  you  really 
must  go  there  some  day  ;  cart  your  family  over,  teach 
the  children  French,  you  know,  and  cultivate  a  bit 
of  vineyard.  Such  fine  big  forests,  too,  full  of  wild 
flowers  and  things — O  such  lovely  hand-made  things 
— why,  you  could  almost  see  the  hand  that  made 
'em.'     The  phrase  had  slipped  suddenly  into  his  mind. 

'  Really,  really,  Mr.  Rogers,  but  how  very  jo — 
delightful  it  sounds.'  He  thought  of  the  stubble 
fields  and  treeless  sea-coast  where  he  had  been.  The 
language,  however,  astonished  him.  Enthusiasm 
like  this  could  only  spring  from  a  big  emotion.  His 
heart  sank  a  little. 

'  And  the  people  all  so  friendly  and  hospitable 
and  simple  that  you  could  go  climbing  with  your 
bootmaker  or  ask  your  baker  in  to  dine  and  sleep. 
No  snobbery  !  Sympathy  everywhere  and  a  big  free 
life  flowing  in  your  veins.' 

This  settled  it.  Only  a  lover  finds  the  whole 
world  lovable. 

'  One  must  know  the  language,  though,'  said 
Minks,  'in  order  to  enjoy  the  people  and  understand 
them,  I  suppose  ? ' 

'  Not  a  bit,  not  a  bit !  One  feels  it  all,  you  see  ; 
somehow  one  feels  it  and  understands.  A  few  words 
useful  here  and  there,  but  one  gets  along  without 
even  these.  I  never  knew  such  a  place.  Every  one 
seemed  to  be  in  sympathy  together.  They  think  it, 
as  it  were.     It  was  regular  fairyland,  I  tell  you.' 


xxix        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        419 

'  Which  means  that  you  felt  and  thought  it,'  said 
Minks  to  himself.  Aloud  he  merely  remarked, 
though  with  conviction,  for  he  was  getting  interested, 
1  Thinking  is  important,  I  know.' 

Rogers  laid  his  pipe  aside  and  suddenly  turned 
upon  him — so  abruptly  that  Minks  started.  Was 
this  the  confession  coming  ?  Would  he  hear  now 
that  his  chief  was  going  to  be  married  ?  His 
wandering  eyes  almost  drew  level  in  the  excitement 
that  he  felt.  He  knocked  a  tiny  ash  from  his 
cigarette  and  waited.  But  the  expected  bomb  did  not 
explode.     He  heard  instead  this  curious  question  : — 

'  And  that's  something — it  reminds  me  now — 
something  I  particularly  wanted  to  ask  you  about, 
my  dear  fellow.  You  are  familiar,  I  know,  with 
such  things  and  theories — er — speculations,  as  it 
were.  You  read  that  sort  of  stuff.  You  are  in 
touch  with  the  latest  ideas,  I  mean,  and  up-to-date. 
You  can  tell  me,  if  any  one  can.' 

He  paused,  hesitating  a  moment,  as  Minks, 
listening  in  some  bewilderment,  gazed  into  his  eager 
face.  He  said  nothing.  He  only  committed  himself 
to  a  deprecating  gesture  with  his  hands,  letting  his 
cigarette  slip  from  his  fingers  on  to  the  carpet. 

'  About  thought]  continued  Rogers,  keeping  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  him  while  he  rose  with  flushed  face 
from  the  search  to  find  the  stump.  '  What  do  you 
know  about  thought  ?  Tell  me  what  you  hear  about 
that — what  theories  are  held — what  people  believe 
about  it.  I  mean  thought-transference,  telepathy,  or 
whatever  it  is  called.      Is  it  proved  ?     Is  it  a  fact  ? ' 

His  voice  had  lowered.  There  was  mystery  in 
his  manner.  He  sat  back  in  his  chair,  picked  up  his 
pipe,  replaced  it  in  his  mouth  unlighted,  and  waited. 

Minks  pulled  himself  together.     His  admirable 


42o       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

qualities  as  a  private  secretary  now  came  in.  Putting 
excitement  and  private  speculations  of  his  own  aside, 
he  concentrated  his  orderly  mind  upon  replies  that 
should  be  models  of  succinct  statement.  He  had 
practised  thought-control,  and  prided  himself  upon 
the  fact.  He  could  switch  attention  instantly  from 
one  subject  to  another  without  confusion.  The 
replies,  however,  were,  of  course,  drawn  from  his  own 
reading.  He  neither  argued  nor  explained.  He 
merely  stated. 

'  Those  who  have  taken  the  trouble  to  study  the 
evidence  believe,'  he  began,  '  that  it  is  established, 
though  its  laws  are  as  yet  unknown.  Personally,  if 
I  may  quote  myself,  I  do  believe  it.' 

1  Quite  so,  quite  so.  Do  quote  yourself — that's 
what  I  want — facts.  But  you  refer  to  deliberate 
experiments,  don't  you  ? ' 

'  In  my  own  case,  yes,  Mr.  Rogers,  although 
the  most  successful  thought-transference  is  probably 
unconscious  and  not  deliberate ' 

'  Such  as,  for  instance ' 

'  Public  opinion,'  replied  Minks,  after  a  moment's 
search,  '  which  is  the  result  of  waves  of  thought  sent 
out  by  everybody — by  a  community  ;  or  by  the 
joint  thinking  of  a  nation,  again,  which  modifies 
every  mind  born  into  that  nation,  the  result  of 
centuries  of  common  thinking  along  definite  familiar 
channels.  Thought-currents  rush  everywhere  about 
the  world,  affecting  every  one  more  or  less,  and — er — 
particularly  lodging  in  minds  receptive  to  them.' 

'  Thought  is  dynamic,  then,  they  hold  ? ' 

'  An  actual  force,  yes  ;  as  actual  as  electricity,  and 
as  little  understood,'  returned  the  secretary,  proud 
that  he  had  read  these  theories  and  remembered  them. 
*  With  every  real  thought  a  definite  force  goes  forth 


xxix        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        421 

from  you  that  modifies  every  single  person,  and 
probably  every  single  object  as  well,  in  the  entire 
world.  Thought  is  creative  according  to  its  intensity. 
It  links  everybody  in  the  world  with  everybody 
else ' 

•  Objects  too,  you  say  ?  '   Rogers  questioned. 

Minks  glanced  up  to  make  sure  there  was  no 
levity  in  the  question,  but  only  desire  for  knowledge. 

1  Objects  too,'  he  replied,  apparently  satisfied, 
'  for  science  tells  us  that  the  movement  of  a  body 
here  affects  the  farthest  star.  A  continuous  medium 
— ether — transmits  the  vibrations  without  friction 
— and  thought -force  is  doubtless  similarly  trans- 
mitted— er ' 

1  So  that  if  I  think  of  a  flower  or  a  star,  my 
thought  leaps  into  them  and  affects  them  ? '  the 
other  interrupted  again. 

'  More,  Mr.  Rogers,'  was  the  reply,  *  for  your 
thought,  being  creative,  enriches  the  world  with 
images  of  beauty  which  may  float  into  another  mind 
across  the  sea,  distance  no  obstacle  at  all.  You 
make  a  mental  image  when  you  think.  There's 
imagination  in  all  real  thinking — if  I  make  myself 
clear.  "  Our  most  elaborate  thoughts,"  to  quote 
for  a  moment,  "  are  often,  as  I  think,  not  really 
ours,  but  have  on  a  sudden  come  up,  as  it  were,  out 
of  hell  or  down  out  of  heaven."  So  what  one  thinks 
affects  everybody  in  the  world.  The  noble  thinkers 
lift  humanity,  though  they  may  never  tell  their 
thoughts  in  speech  or  writing.' 

His  employer  stared  at  him  in  silence  through 
the  cloud  of  smoke.  The  clock  on  the  mantelpiece 
struck  half-past  twelve. 

'  That  is  where  the  inspiration  of  the  artist  comes 
in,'  continued  the  secretary  after  a  moment's  hesita- 


422        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

tion  whether  he  should  say  it  or  not,  '  for  his  sensitive 
soul  collects  them  and  gives  them  form.  They  lodge 
in  him  and  grow,  and  every  passionate  longing  for 
spiritual  growth  sets  the  whole  world  growing  too. 
Your  Scheme  for  Disabled ' 

'  Even     if    it    never     materialises '     Rogers 

brusquely  interposed. 

'Sweetens  the  world — yes — according  to  this 
theory,'  continued  Minks,  wondering  what  in  the 
world  had  come  over  his  chief,  yet  so  pleased  to 
state  his  own  views  that  he  forgot  to  analyse.  '  A 
man  in  a  dungeon  earnestly  praying  would  accom- 
plish more  than  an  active  man  outside  who  merely 
lived  thoughtlessly,  even  though  beneficently — if  I 
make  myself  clear.' 

'  Yes,  yes  ;  you  make  yourself  admirably  clear, 
Minks,  as  I  knew  you  would.'  Rogers  lit  his  pipe 
again  and  puffed  hard  through  a  minute's  silence. 
The  secretary  held  his  peace,  realising  from  the  tone 
of  the  last  sentence  that  he  had  said  enough.  Mr. 
Rogers  was  leading  up  to  other  questions.  Hitherto 
he  had  been  clearing  the  ground. 

It  came  then,  through  the  clouds  of  smoke,  though 
Minks  failed  to  realise  exactly  why  it  was  so  im- 
portant : 

'  So  that  if  I  thought  vividly  of  anything,  I  should 
actually  create  a  mental  picture  which  in  turn  might 
slip  into  another's  mind,  while  that  other  would  natur- 
ally suppose  it  was  his  own  ?  ' 

'  Exactly,  Mr.  Rogers  ;  exactly  so.'  Minks  con- 
trived to  make  the  impatience  in  his  voice  sound  like 
appreciation  of  his  master's  quickness.  '  Distance  no 
obstacle  either,'  he  repeated,  as  though  fond  of  the 
phrase. 

4  And,  similarly,  the  thought  I  deemed  my  own 


xxix        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        423 

might  have  come  in  its  turn  from  the  mind  of  some 
one  else  ? ' 

*  Precisely  ;  for  thought  binds  us  all  together  like 
a  network,  and  to  think  of  others  is  to  spread  one- 
self about  the  universe.  When  we  think  thus  we 
get  out — as  it  were — into  that  medium  common  to 
all  of  us  where  spirit  meets  spirit ' 

'  Out  !  '  exclaimed  Rogers,  putting  down  his  pipe 
and  staring  keenly,  first  into  one  eye,  then  into  the 
other.     '  Out  ? ' 

'  Out — yes,'  Minks  echoed  faintly,  wondering  why 
that  particular  word  was  chosen.  He  felt  a  little 
startled.  This  earnest  talk,  moreover,  stirred  the 
subconsciousness  in  him,  so  that  he  remembered  that 
unfinished  sonnet  he  had  begun  weeks  ago  at  Charing 
Cross.  If  he  were  alone  now  he  could  complete  it. 
Lines  rose  and  offered  themselves  by  the  dozen.  His 
master's  emotion  had  communicated  itself  to  him. 
A  breath  of  that  ecstasy  he  had  already  divined 
passed  through  the  air  between  them. 

1  It's  what  the  Contemplative  Orders  attempt ' 

he  continued,  yet  half  to  himself,  as  though  a  little 
bemused. 

'  Out,  by  George  !     Out  ! '  Rogers  said  again. 

So  emphatic  was  the  tone  that  Minks  half  rose 
from  his  chair  to  go. 

1  No,  no,'  laughed  his  chief ;  '  I  don't  mean  that 
you're  to  get  out.  Forgive  my  abruptness.  The 
fact  is  I  was  thinking  aloud  a  moment.  I  meant — 
I  mean  that  you've  explained  a  lot  to  me  I  didn't 
understand  before — had  never  thought  about,  rather. 
And  it's  rather  wonderful,  you  see.  In  fact,  it's  very 
wonderful.  Minks,'  he  added,  with  the  grave  en- 
thusiasm of  one  who  has  made  a  big  discovery,  '  this 
world  is  a  very  wonderful  place.' 


424       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

'  It  is  simply  astonishing,  Mr.  Rogers,'  Minks 
answered  with  conviction,  '  astonishingly  beautiful.' 

'  That's  what  I  mean,'  he  went  on.  '  If  I  think 
beauty,  that  beauty  may  materialise ' 

'  Must,  will,  does  materialise,  Mr.  Rogers,  just  as 
your  improvements  in  machinery  did.  You  first 
thought  them  out ! ' 

'  Then  put  them  into  words  ;  yes,  and  afterwards 
into  metal.  Strong  thought  is  bound  to  realise 
itself  sooner  or  later,  eh  ?  Isn't  it  all  grand  and 
splendid  ? ' 

They  stared  at  one  another  across  the  smoky 
atmosphere  of  the  London  flat  at  the  hour  of  one 
in  the  morning  in  the  twentieth  century. 

'  And  when  I  think  of  a  Scaffolding  of  Dusk 
that  builds  the  Night,'  Rogers  went  on  in  a 
lower  tone  to  himself,  yet  not  so  low  that 
Minks,  listening  in  amazement,  did  not  catch 
every  syllable,  'or  of  a  Dustman,  Sweep,  and 
Lamplighter,  of  a  Starlight  Express,  or  a  vast  Star 
Net  that  binds  the  world  in  sympathy  together, 
and  when  I  weave  all  these  into  a  story,  whose 
centre  somehow  is  the  Pleiades — all  this  is  real  and 
actual,  and — and ' 

'  May  have  been  projected  by  another  mind  before 
it  floated  into  your  own,'  Minks  suddenly  interposed 
almost  in  a  whisper,  charmed  wholly  into  the  poet's 
region  by  these  suggestive  phrases,  yet  wondering  a 
little  why  he  said  it,  and  particularly  how  he  dared 
to  say  it. 

His  chief  turned  sharply  upon  him. 

1  My  own  thought  exactly  ! '  he  exclaimed  ;  *  but 
how  the  devil  did  you  guess  it  ? ' 

Minks  returned  the  stare  with  triumph. 

'  Unconscious  transference  !  '  he  said. 


xxix        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        425 

1  You  really  think  that  ? '  his  master  asked,  yet 
not  mockingly. 

Minks  turned  a  shade  pinker. 

'  I  do,  indeed,  sir,'  he  replied  warmly.  '  I  think 
it  probable  that  the  thoughts  of  people  you  have 
never  seen  or  heard  of  drop  into  your  mind  and 
colour  it.  They  lodge  there,  or  are  rejected,  accord- 
ing to  your  mood  and  the  texture  of  your  longings — 
what  you  want  to  be,  that  is.  What  you  want,  if  I 
may  say  so,  is  emptiness,  and  that  emptiness  invites. 
The  flying  thought  flits  in  and  makes  itself  at  home. 
Some  people  overflow  with  thoughts  of  kindness  and 
beauty  that  radiate  from  them,  of  love  and  tenderness 
and  desire  to  help.  These  thoughts,  it  may  be,  find 
no  immediate  object  ;  but  they  are  not  lost.  They 
pour  loose  about  the  world  of  men  and  women,  and 
sooner  or  later  find  the  empty  heart  that  needs  them. 
I  believe,  sir,  that  to  sit  in  a  chair  and  think  such 
things  strongly  brings  comfort  to  thousands  who 
have  little  idea  whence  comes  the  sudden  peace  and 
happiness.  And  any  one  who  happens  to  be  praying 
for  these  things  at  the  moment  attracts  them  instantly. 
The  comfort,  the  joy,  the  relief  come ' 

'  What  a  good  idea,  Minks,'  said  Rogers  gently, 
'  and  how  helpful  if  we  all  believed  it.  No  one's  life 
need  be  a  failure  then.  Those  who  want  love,  for 
instance,  need  it,  crave  it,  just  think  what  an  army 
they  are  ! ' 

He  stared  thoughtfully  a  moment  at  his  little 
secretary. 

'  You  might  write  a  book  about  it,  you  know — 
try  and  make  people  believe  it — convince  them. 
Eh  ?  Only,  you'd  have  to  give  your  proofs,  you 
know.     People  want  proofs.' 

Minks,  pinker  than  before,  hesitated  a  moment. 


426        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap 

He  was  not  sure  how  far  he  ought  to  indulge  his 
private  theories  in  words.  The  expression  in  his 
chief's  blue  eyes  apparently  encouraged  him. 

*  But,  indeed,  Mr.  Rogers,  the  proofs  are  there. 
Those  moments  of  sudden  strength  and  joy  that 
visit  a  man,  catching  him  unawares  and  unexplained 
— every  solitary  man  and  woman  knows  them,  for 
every  solitary  man  and  woman  in  the  world  craves 
first  of  all — to  be  loved.  To  love  another,  others, 
an  impersonal  Cause,  is  not  enough.  It  is  only  half 
of  life  ;  to  be  loved  is  the  other  half.  If  every 
single  person — I  trust,  sir,  I  do  not  tire  you  ? — was 
loved  by  some  one,  the  happiness  of  life  would  be 
enormously  greater  than  it  is,  for  each  one  loved 
would  automatically  then  give  out  from  his  own 
store,  and  to  receive  love  makes  one  overflow  with 
love  for  every  one  else.     It  is  so,  is  it  not,  sir  ? ' 

Rogers,  an  odd  thrill  catching  him  unawares, 
nodded.  '  It  is,  Minks,  it  is,'  he  agreed.  '  To  love 
one  person  makes  one  half  prepared  to  love  all,  and 
to  be  loved  in  turn  may  have  a  similar  effect.  It  is 
nice  to  think  so  anyhow.' 

'  It  is  true,  sir '  and  Minks  sat  up,  ready  with 

another  deluge. 

•  But  you  were  saying  something  just  now,'  inter- 
rupted the  other,  '  about  these  sudden  glimpses  of 
joy  and  beauty  that — er — come  to  one — er — inex- 
plicably.    What  d'ye  mean  by  that  precisely  ? ' 

Minks  glowed.  He  was  being  listened  to,  and 
understood  by  his  honoured  chief,  too ! 

'  Simply  that  some  one,  perhaps  far  away — some 
sweet  woman  probably — has  been  thinking  love,'  he 
replied  with  enthusiasm,  yet  in  a  low  and  measured 
voice,  '  and  that  the  burning  thoughts  have  rushed 
into  the  emptiness  of  a  heart  that  needs  them.     Like 


xxix        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        427 

water,  thought  finds  its  level.  The  sudden  gush — 
all  feel  it  more  or  less  at  times,  surely  ! — may  rise 
first  from  her  mind  as  she  walks  lonely  upon  the 
shore,  pacing  the  decks  at  sea,  or  in  her  hillside 
rambles,  thinking,  dreaming,  hoping,  yearning — to 
pour  out  and  find  the  heart  that  needs  these  very 
things,  perhaps  far  across  the  world.  Who  knows  ? 
Heart  thrills  in  response  to  heart  secretly  in  every 
corner  of  the  globe,  and  when  these  tides  flood 
unexplained  into  your  soul ' 

'  Into  my  soul ! '  exclaimed  his  chief. 

'  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,'  Minks  hurried  to  explain; 
1 1  mean  to  any  lonely  soul  that  happens  to  crave 
such  comfort  with  real  longing — it  implies,  to  my 
mind  at  least,  that  these  two  are  destined  to  give  and 
take  from  one  another,  and  that,  should  they  happen 
to  meet  in  actual  life,  they  will  rush  together  instantly 
like  a  pair  of  flames ' 

'  And  if  they  never — meet  ? '  asked  Rogers  slowly, 
turning  to  the  mantel-piece  for  the  matches. 

*  They  will  continue  to  feed  each  other  in  this 
delicious  spiritual  way  from  a  distance,  sir.  Only — 
the  chances  are — that  they  will  meet,  for  their 
thought  already  connects  them  vitally,  though  as  yet 
unrealised.' 

There  was  a  considerable  pause.  Rogers  lit  his 
pipe.  Minks,  feeling  he  ought  to  stand  while  his 
master  did  so,  also  rose  from  his  chair.  The  older 
man  turned ;  they  faced  each  other  for  a  moment, 
Rogers  putting  smoke  violently  into  the  air  between 
them. 

'  Minks,  my  dear  fellow,'  he  observed,  '  you  are, 
as  I  have  always  thought,  a  poet.  You  have  ideas, 
and,  whether  true  or  not,  they  are  rather  lovely. 
Write  them  out  for  others  to  read.      Use  your  spare 


428        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

time  writing  them  out.  I'll  see  to  it  that  you  have 
more  leisure.' 

With  a  laugh  the  big  man  moved  abruptly  past 
his  chair  and  knocked  his  pipe  on  the  edge  of 
the  ash-bowl.  His  eye,  as  he  did  so,  fell  upon  the 
pile  of  letters  and  papers  arranged  so  neatly  on  the 
table.  He  remembered  the  lateness  of  the  hour — 
and  other  things  besides. 

'  Well,  well,'  he  said  vaguely  with  a  sigh  ;  '  so 
here  we  are  again  back  at  work  in  London.' 

Minks  had  turned,  too,  realising  that  the  surprising 
conversation  was  over.  A  great  excitement  was  in 
him.  He  did  not  feel  in  the  least  tired.  An  unusual 
sense  of  anticipation  was  in  the  air.  He  could  not 
make  it  out  at  all.  Reviewing  a  dozen  possibilities 
at  once,  he  finally  rejected  the  romantic  one  he  had 
first  suspected,  and  decided  that  the  right  moment 
had  at  last  come  to  say  something  of  the  Scheme. 
He  had  worked  so  hard  to  collect  data.  All  was  in 
perfect  order.  His  chief  could  not  feel  otherwise 
than  pleased. 

'  Then  I'll  be  saying  good-night,  Mr.  Rogers,'  he 
began,  '  for  you  must  be  very  tired,  and  I  trust  you 
will  enjoy  a  long  night's  rest.  Perhaps  you  would  like 
me  to  come  a  little  later  in  the  morning  than  usual.' 

He  stood  looking  affectionately  at  the  formidable 
pile  of  correspondence,  and,  as  his  chief  made  no 
immediate  reply,  he  went  on,  with  more  decision  in 
his  voice  : 

'  Here,'  he  said,  touching  the  papers  he  had  care- 
fully set  on  one  side,  '  are  all  the  facts  you  wanted 
referring  to  your  great  Scheme ' 

He  jumped.  His  master's  fist  had  come  down 
with  a  bang  upon  the  table.  He  stepped  back  a 
pace.     They  stared  at  one  another. 


xxix        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        429 

'  Damn  the  Scheme  !  '  cried  Rogers.  *  I  have 
done  and  finished  with  it.  Tear  up  the  papers. 
Cancel  any  arrangements  already  made.  And  never 
mention  the  thing  again  in  my  hearing.  It's  all 
unreal  and  wrong  and  unnecessary  !  ' 

Minks  gasped.  The  man  was  so  in  earnest. 
What  could  it  mean  ? 

1  Wrong — unnecessary — done  with  ! '  he  faltered. 
Then,  noticing  the  flashing  eyes  that  yet  betrayed  a 
hint  of  merriment  in  their  fire,  he  added  quickly, 
'  Quite  so,  Mr.  Rogers  ;  I  understand.  You've  got 
an  improvement,  you  mean  ? ' 

It  was  not  his  place  to  ask  questions,  but  he  could 
not  contain  himself.  Curiosity  and  disappointment 
rushed  over  him. 

'A  bigger  and  a  better  one  altogether,  Minks,' 
was  the  vehement  reply.  He  pushed  the  heap  of 
papers  towards  the  secretary.  Minks  took  them 
gingerly,  reluctantly. 

'  Burn  'em  up,'  Rogers  went  on,  '  and  never  speak 
to  me  again  about  the  blessed  thing.  I've  got  a  far 
bigger  Scheme  than  that.' 

Minks  slowly  gathered  the  papers  together  and 
put  them  in  his  biggest  pocket.  He  knew  not  what 
to  think.  The  suddenness  of  the  affair  dazed  him. 
Thought-transference  failed  this  time  ;  he  was  too 
perturbed,  indeed,  to  be  in  a  receptive  state  at  all. 
It  seemed  a  catastrophe,  a  most  undesirable  and 
unexpected  climax.  The  romantic  solution  revived 
in  him — but  only  for  a  passing  moment.  He  re- 
jected it.  Some  big  discovery  was  in  the  air.  He 
felt  that  extraordinary  sense  of  anticipation  once  again. 

4  Look  here,  my  dear  fellow,  Minks,'  said  Rogers, 
who  had  been  watching  his  discomfiture  with  amuse- 
ment, '  you  may  be  surprised,  but  you  need  not  be 


430        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

alarmed.  The  fact  is,  this  has  been  coming  for  a  long 
time  ;  it's  not  an  impulsive  decision.  You  must  have 
felt  it — from  my  letters.  That  Scheme  was  all  right 
enough,  only  I  am  not  the  right  man  for  it.  See  ? 
And  our  work,'  he  added  laughingly,  '  won't  go  for 
nothing  either,  because  our  thought  will  drop  into 
another  mind  somewhere  that  will  accomplish  the 
thing  far  better  than  I  could  have  accomplished  it.' 

Minks  made  an  odd  gesture,  as  who  should  say 
this  might  not  be  true.  He  did  not  venture  upon 
speech,  however.  This  new  plan  must  be  very 
wonderful,  was  all  he  thought  just  then.  His  faith 
in  his  employer's  genius  was  complete. 

'  And  in  due  time  you  shall  hear  all  about  it. 
Have  a  little  patience.  Perhaps  you'll  get  it  out  of 
my  thoughts  before  I  tell  it  to  you,'  he  smiled,  '  but 
perhaps  you  won't.  I  can  only  tell  you  just  now  that 
it  has  beauty  in  it — a  beauty  of  the  stars.' 

Yet  what  his  bigger  Scheme  was  he  really  had  no 
clear  idea.     He  felt  it  coming — that  was  all ! 

And  with  that  Minks  had  to  be  content.  This 
was  dismissal.  Good -nights  were  said,  and  the 
secretary  went  out  into  the  street. 

'  Go  to  a  comfortable  hotel,'  was  the  last  thing  he 
heard,  c  and  put  it  down  to  me,  of  course.  Sleep  well, 
sleep  well.     To-morrow  at  two  o'clock  will  do.' 

Minks  strolled  home,  walking  upon  air.  The 
sky  was  brilliant  with  its  gorgeous  constellations — 
the  beauty  of  the  stars.  Poems  blazed  upon  him. 
But  he  was  too  excited  to  compose.  Even  first  lines 
evaded  capture.  '  Stars,'  besides,  was  a  dreadful  word 
to  rhyme  with,  for  all  its  charm  and  loveliness.  He 
knew  of  old  that  the  only  word  was  '  wars,'  most 
difficult  to  bring  in  naturally  and  spontaneously,  and 
with  the  wrong  sound  in  any  case. 


xxix        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       431 

'  He  must  have  been  writing  poetry  out  there,'  he 
reflected  finally,  '  or  else  living  it.  Living  it,  prob- 
ably. He's  a  grand  fellow  anyhow,  grand  as  a 
king.'  Stars,  wars,  kings,  thrones — the  words  flew 
in  and  out  among  a  maze  of  unaccomplished  lines. 

But  the  last  thing  in  his  mind  as  he  curled  up  to 
sleep  in  the  strange  bed  was  that  he  had  delivered 
his  wife's  message,  but  that  he  could  not  tell  her 
about  this  sudden  collapse  of  the  great,  long-talked-of 
Scheme.  Albinia  would  hardly  understand.  She 
might  think  less  of  his  chief.  He  would  wait  until 
the  new  one  dawned  upon  the  horizon  with  its  beauty 
of  the  stars.  Then  he  would  simply  overwhelm  her 
with  it,  as  his  temperament  loved  to  do. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

Lo,  every  yearning  thought  that  holds  a  tear, 

Yet  finds  no  mission 

And  lies  untold, 
Waits,  guarded  in  that  labyrinth  of  gold,— 

To  reappear 

Upon  some  perfect  night, 

Deathless — not  old — 
But  sweet  with  time  and  distance, 
And  clothed  as  in  a  vision 

Of  starry  brilliance 

For  the  world's  delight. 

John  Henry  Campden. 

Then,  as  the  days  passed,  practical  life  again  caught 
Henry  Rogers  in  its  wholesome  grip.  Fairyland  did 
not  fade  exactly,  but  it  dipped  a  little  below  the 
horizon.  Like  hell  and  heaven,  it  was  a  state  of 
mind,  open  potentially  to  all,  but  not  to  be  enjoyed 
merely  for  the  asking.  Like  other  desirable  things, 
it  was  to  be  '  attained.'  Its  remoteness  and  difficulty 
of  access  lent  to  it  a  haunting  charm  ;  for  though 
its  glory  dimmed  a  little,  there  was  a  soft  afterglow 
that  shed  its  radiance  even  down  Piccadilly  and  St. 
James's  Street.  He  was  always  conscious  of  this  land 
beyond  the  sunset  ;  the  stars  shone  brightly,  though 
clouds  or  sunlight  interfered  to  blur  their  message. 

London  life,  however,  by  the  sheer  weight  of  its 
grinding  daily  machinery,  worked  its  slow  effect  upon 
him.  He  became  less  sensitive  to  impressions.  These 
duller  periods  were  interrupted  sometimes  by  states 
of  brilliant  receptiveness,  as  at  Bourcelles  ;  but  there 

432 


ch.xxx    A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       433 

was  a  fence  between  the  two — a  rather  prickly  frontier, 
and  the  secret  of  combining  them  lay  just  beyond  his 
reach.  For  his  London  mind,  guided  by  reason, 
acted  in  a  logical  plane  of  two  dimensions,  while 
imagination,  captained  by  childhood's  fairy  longings, 
cantered  loose  in  all  directions  at  once — impossibly. 
The  first  was  the  world  ;  the  second  was  the  universe. 
As  yet,  he  was  unable  to  co-ordinate  them.  Minks, 
he  was  certain,  could — and  did,  sailing  therefore  upon 
an  even  keel.  There  was  this  big  harmony  in  little 
Minks  that  he  envied.  Minks  had  an  outlet. 
Sydenham,  and  even  the  City,  for  him  were  fairy- 
land ;  a  motor-bus  fed  his  inspiration  as  surely  as  a 
starlit  sky  ;  moon  always  rhymed  with  June,  and 
forget  with  regret.  But  the  inner  world  of  Henry 
Rogers  was  not  yet  properly  connected  with  the 
outer.  Passage  from  one  to  the  other  was  due  to 
chance,  it  seemed,  not  to  be  effected  at  will.  Moods 
determined  the  sudden  journey.  He  rocked.  But 
for  his  talks  with  little  Minks,  he  might  have 
wrecked. 

And  the  talks  with  Minks  were  about — well,  he 
hardly  knew  what,  but  they  all  played  round  this 
map  of  fairyland  he  sought  to  reduce  to  the  scale  of 
everyday  life.  They  discussed  thought,  dreams,  the 
possibility  of  leaving  the  body  in  sleep,  the  artist 
temperament,  the  source  of  inspiration  as  well  as  the 
process  of  the  imaginative  faculty  that  created.  They 
talked  even  of  astronomy.  Minks  held  that  the  life 
of  practical,  daily  work  was  the  bed-rock  of  all  sane 
production,  yet  while  preaching  this  he  bubbled  over 
with  all  the  wild,  entrancing  theories  that  were  in  the 
air  to-day.  They  were  comical,  but  never  dangerous 
— did  not  upset  him.  They  were  almost  a  form  of 
play. 

2   F 


434        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

And  his  master,  listening,  found  these  conversa- 
tions an  outlet  somehow  for  emotions  in  himself  he 
could  not  manage — a  scaffolding  that  provided  out- 
lines for  his  awakening  dreams  to  build  upon.  He 
found  relief.  For  Minks,  with  his  delightful  tact, 
asked  no  awkward  questions.  He  referred  neither 
to  the  defunct  Scheme,  nor  mentioned  the  new  one 
that  held  '  a  beauty  of  the  stars.'  He  waited.  Rogers 
also  waited. 

And,  while  he  waited,  he  grew  conscious  more 
and  more  of  an  enormous  thing  that  passed,  driving 
behind,  below,  his  daily  external  life.  He  could  never 
quite  get  at  it.  In  there,  down  out  of  sight  some- 
where, he  knew  everything.  His  waking  existence 
was  fed  invisibly  from  below.  In  the  daytime  he 
now  frequently  caught  himself  attempting  to  recover 
the  memory  of  things  that  went  on  elsewhere,  things 
he  was  personally  involved  in,  vital  things.  This 
daylight  effort  to  recover  them  was  as  irksome  as 
the  attempt  to  draw  a  loose  hair  that  has  wound 
about  the  tongue.  He  spoke  at  length  to  Minks 
about  it. 

'  Some  part  of  you,'  replied  the  imperturbable 
secretary,  after  listening  carefully  to  his  master's 
vague  description  of  the  symptoms,  '  is  being  engaged 
elsewhere — very  actively  engaged ' 

'  Eh  ? '  asked  Rogers,  puzzled. 

1  Probably  at  night,  sir,  while  your  brain  and  body 
sleep,'  Minks  elaborated,  '  your  energetic  spirit  is 
out — on  the  plane  of  causes ' 

The  other  gasped  slightly,  '  While  my  body  lies 
unconscious  ? ' 

*  Your  spirit  may  be  busy  at  all  kinds  of  things. 
That  can  never  be  unconscious,'  was  the  respectful 
answer.     '  They  say ' 


xxx        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        435 

'  Yes,  what  do  they  say  ?  '  He  recognised  a  fairy 
theory,  and  jumped  at  it. 

1  That  in  sleep,'  continued  the  other,  encouraged, 
'  the  spirit  knows  a  far  more  concentrated  life — dips 
down  into  the  deep  sea  of  being — our  waking  life 
merely  the  froth  upon  the  shore.' 

Rogers  stared  at  him.  '  Yes,  yes,'  he  answered 
slowly,  '  that's  very  pretty,  very  charming  ;  it's  quite 
delightful.  What  ideas  you  have,  my  dear  Minks  ! 
What  jolly,  helpful  ideas  ! ' 

Minks  beamed  with  pleasure. 

'Not  my  own,  Mr.  Rogers,  not  my  own,'  he 
said,  with  as  much  pride  as  if  they  were  his  own, 
'  but  some  of  the  oldest  in  the  world,  just  coming 
into  fashion  again  with  the  turn  of  the  tide,  it  seems. 
Our  daily  life — even  the  most  ordinary — is  immensely 
haunted,  girdled  about  with  a  wonder  of  incredible 
things.  There  are  hints  everywhere  to-day,  though 
few  can  read  the  enormous  script  complete.  Here 
and  there  one  reads  a  letter  or  a  word,  that's  all. 
Yet  the  best  minds  refuse  to  know  the  language, 
not  even  the  ABC  of  it  ;  they  read  another  language 
altogether ' 

'  The  best  minds  ! '  repeated  Rogers.  '  What 
d'you  mean  by  that  ! '  It  sounded,  as  Minks  said  it, 
so  absurdly  like  best  families. 

'  The  scientific  and  philosophical  minds,  sir.  They 
think  it's  not  worth  learning,  this  language.  That's 
the  pity  of  it — ah,  the  great  pity  of  it ! '  And  he 
looked  both  eager  and  resentful  —  his  expression 
almost  pathetic.  He  turned  half  beseechingly  to 
his  employer,  as  though  he  might  alter  the  sad 
state  of  things.  '  As  with  an  iceberg,  Mr.  Rogers,' 
he  added,  'the  greater  part  of  everything  —  of 
ourselves  especially — is  invisible  ;  we  merely   know 


436        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

the  detail  banked  against  an  important  grand  Un- 
seen.' 

The  Ions:  sentence  had  been  suffered  to  its  close 
because  the  audience  was  busy  with  thoughts  or  his 
own  instead  of  listening  carefully.  Behind  the  wild 
language  stirred  some  hint  of  meaning  that,  he  felt, 
held  truth.  For  a  moment,  it  seemed,  his  daylight 
searching  was  explained — almost. 

'  Well  and  good,  my  dear  fellow,  and  very  pic- 
turesque,' he  said  presently,  gazing  with  admiration 
at  his  secretary's  neat  blue  tie  and  immaculate  linen  ; 
'  but  thinking,  you  know,  is  not  possible  without 
matter.'  This  in  a  tone  of  *  Do  talk  a  little  sense.' 
'  Even  if  the  spirit  does  go  out,  it  couldn't  think 
apart  from  the  brain,  could  it  now,  eh  ?  ' 

Minks  took  a  deep  breath  and  relieved  himself  of 
the  following  : 

'  Ah,  Mr.  Rogers ' — as  much  as  to  say  '  Fancy 
you  believing  that  !  ' — '  but  it  can  experience  and 
know  direct,  since  it  passes  into  the  region  whence 
the  material  that  feeds  thought  issues  in  the  first 
instance — causes,  Mr.  Rogers,  causes.' 

'  Oho  !  '  said  his  master,  '  oho  !  ' 

'  There  is  no  true  memory  afterwards,'  continued 
the  little  dreamer,  '  because  memory  depends  upon 
how  much  the  spirit  can  bring  back  into  the  brain, 
you  see.  We  have  vague  feelings,  rather  than  actual 
recollection — feelings  such  as  you  were  kind  enough 
to  confess  to  me  you  had  been  haunted  by  your- 
self  ' 

'  All-overish  feelings,'  Rogers  helped  him,  seeing 
that  he  was  losing  confidence  a  little,  *  vague  sensa- 
tions of  joy  and  wonder  and — well — in  a  word, 
strength.' 

'  Faith,'  said   Minks,  with  a  decision  of  renewed 


xxx         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        437 

conviction,  '  which  is  really  nothing  but  unconscious 
knowledge  —  knowledge  unremembered.  And  it's 
the  half-memory  of  what  you  do  at  night  that  causes 
this  sense  of  anticipation  you  now  experience  ;  for 
what  is  anticipation,  after  all,  but  memory  thrown 
forward  ? ' 

There  was  a  pause  then,  during  which  Rogers  lit 
a  cigarette,  while  Minks  straightened  his  tie  several 
times  in  succession. 

'  You  are  a  greater  reader  than  I,  of  course,' 
resumed  his  employer  presently  ;  '  still,  I  have  come 
across  one  or  two  stories  which  deal  with  this  kind 
of  thing.  Only,  in  the  books,  the  people  always 
remember  what  they've  done  at  night,  out  of  the 
body,  in  the  spirit,  or  whatever  you  like  to  call  it. 
Now,  /  remember  nothing  whatever.  How  d'you 
account  for  that,  pray  ?  ' 

Minks  smiled  a  little  sadly.  *  The  books,'  he 
answered  very  softly,  '  are  wrong  there — mere  in- 
ventions —  not  written  from  personal  experience. 
There  can  be  no  detailed  memory  unless  the  brain 
has  been  '  out '  too — which  it  hasn't.  That's  where 
inaccuracy  and  looseness  of  thought  come  in.  If 
only  the  best  minds  would  take  the  matter  up,  you 
see,  we  might ' 

Rogers  interrupted  him. 

'  We  shall  miss  the  post,  Minks,  if  we  go  on 
dreaming  and  talking  like  this,'  he  exclaimed,  looking 
at  his  watch  and  then  at  the  pile  of  letters  waiting  to 
be  finished.  '  It  is  very  delightful  indeed,  very — but 
we  mustn't  forget  to  be  practical,  too.' 

And  the  secretary,  not  sorry  perhaps  to  be  rescued 
in  time  from  the  depths  he  had  floundered  in,  switched 
his  mind  in  concentration  upon  the  work  in  hand 
again.     The  conversation  had  arisen  from  a  chance 


438        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

coincidence  in  this  very  correspondence — two  letters 
that  had  crossed  after  weeks  of  silence. 

Work  was  instantly  resumed.  It  went  on  as 
though  it  had  never  been  interrupted.  Pride  and 
admiration  stirred  the  heart  of  Minks  as  he  noticed 
how  keenly  and  accurately  his  master's  brain  took  up 
the  lost  threads  again.  *  A  grand  fellow  ! '  he  thought 
to  himself,  '  a  splendid  man  !  He  lives  in  both 
worlds  at  once,  yet  never  gets  confused,  nor  lets 
one  usurp  his  powers  to  the  detriment  of  the  other. 
If  only  I  were  equally  balanced  and  effective.  Oh 
dear  ! '     And  he  sighed. 

And  there  were  many  similar  conversations  of 
this  kind.  London  seemed  different,  almost  trans- 
figured sometimes.  Was  this  the  beginning  of 
that  glory  which  should  prove  it  a  suburb  of  Bour- 
celles  ? 

Rogers  found  his  thoughts  were  much  in  that  cosy 
mountain  village  :  the  children  capered  by  his  side  all 
day  ;  he  smelt  the  woods  and  flowers  ;  he  heard  the 
leaves  rustle  on  the  poplar's  crest ;  and  had  merely  to 
think  of  a  certain  room  in  the  tumble-down  old 
Citadelle  for  a  wave  of  courage  and  high  anticipation 
to  sweep  over  him  like  a  sea.  A  new  feeling  of 
harmony  was  taking  him  in  hand.  It  was  very 
delightful  ;  and  though  he  felt  explanation  beyond 
his  reach  still,  his  talks  with  Minks  provided  peep- 
holes through  which  he  peered  at  the  enormous  thing 
that  brushed  him  day  and  night. 

A  great  settling  was  taking  place  inside  him. 
Thoughts  certainly  began  to  settle.  He  realised,  for 
one  thing,  that  he  had  left  the  theatre  where  the 
marvellous  Play  had  been  enacted.  He  stood  outside 
now,  able  to  review  and  form  a  judgment.  His 
mind  loved  order.      Undue  introspection  he  disliked, 


xxx         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        439 

as  a  form  of  undesirable  familiarity  ;  a  balanced  man 
must  not  be  too  familiar  with  himself  ;  it  endangered 
self-respect. 

He  had  been  floundering  rather.  After  years  of 
methodical  labour  the  freedom  of  too  long  a  holiday 
was  disorganising.  He  tried  to  steady  himself. 
And  the  Plan  of  Life,  answering  to  control,  grew 
smaller  instantly,  reduced  to  proportions  he  could 
examine  reasonably.  This  was  the  beginning  of 
success.  The  bewildering  light  of  fairyland  still 
glimmered,  but  no  longer  so  diffused.  It  focused 
into  little  definite  kernels  he  could  hold  steady  while 
he  scrutinised  them. 

And  these  kernels  he  examined  carefully  as  might 
be  :  in  the  quiet,  starry  evenings  usually,  while 
walking  alone  in  St.  James's  Park  after  his  day  of 
board  meetings,  practical  work  with  Minks,  and  the 
like. 

Gradually  then,  out  of  the  close  survey,  emerged 
certain  things  that  seemed  linked  together  in  an 
intelligible  sequence  of  cause  and  effect.  There  was 
still  mystery,  for  subconscious  investigation  ever 
involves  this  background  of  shadow.  Question  and 
Wonder  watched  him.     But  the  facts  emerged. 

He  jotted  them  down  on  paper  as  best  he  could. 
The  result  looked  like  a  Report  drawn  up  by  Minks, 
only  less  concise  and — he  was  bound  to  admit  it — 
less  intelligible.  He  smiled  as  he  read  them 
over.   .   .  . 

'  My  thoughts  and  longings,  awakened  that  night 
in  the  little  Crayfield  garden,'  he  summed  it  up  to 
himself,  having  read  the  Report  so  far,  '  went  forth 
upon  their  journey  of  realisation.  I  projected  them 
— according  to  Minks — vividly  enough  for  that !  I 
thought  Beauty — and  this  glorious  result  materialised ! 


44o        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

More — my  deepest,  oldest  craving  of  all  has  come  to 
life  again — the  cry  of  loneliness  that  yearns  to — that 

seeks — er ' 

At  this  point,  however,  his  analysis  grew  wumbled; 
the    transference    of  thought    and    emotion    seemed 
comprehensible  enough  ;  though  magical,  it  was  not 
more  so   than    wireless    telegraphy,  or  that  a  jet  of 
steam  should  drive  an  express  for  a  hundred  miles. 
It  was  conceivable  that  Daddy  had  drawn  thence  the 
inspiration   for  his   wonderful    story.     What   baffled 
him  was  the  curious  feeling  that  another  was  mixed 
up  in  the  whole,  delightful  business,  and  that  neither 
he  nor  his  cousin  were  the  true  sponsors  of  the  fairy 
fabric.     He  never  forgot  the  description  his  cousin 
read  aloud  that  night  in  the  Den — how  the  Pattern  of 
his  Story  reached  its  climax  and  completeness  when  a 
little  starry  figure  with  twinkling  feet  and  amber  eyes 
had  leaped  into  the  centre  and  made  itself  at  home 
there.       From    the    Pleiades    it    came.       The    lost 
Pleiad  was   found.     The   network    of  thought   and 
sympathy  that  contained  the  universe  had  trembled 
to  its  uttermost  fastenings.     The  principal  r61e  was 
filled  at  last. 

It  was  here  came  in  the  perplexing  thing  that 
baffled  him.  His  mind  sat  down  and  stared  at  an 
enormous,  shadowy  possibility  that  he  was  unable  to 
grasp.  It  brushed  past  him  overhead,  beneath,  on  all 
sides.  He  peered  up  at  it  and  marvelled,  un- 
convinced, yet  knowing  himself  a  prisoner.  Some- 
thing he  could  not  understand  was  coming,  was 
already  close,  was  watching  him,  waiting  the  moment 
to  pounce  out,  like  an  invisible  cat  upon  a  bewildered 
mouse.  The  question  he  flung  out  brought  no 
response,  and  he  recalled  with  a  smile  the  verse  that 
described  his  absurd  position  : — 


xxx         A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        441 

Like  a  mouse  who,  lost  in  wonder, 
Flicks  its  whiskers  at  the  thunder  ! 

For,  while  sprites  and  yearning  were  decidedly 
his  own,  the  interpretation  of  them,  if  not  their 
actual  origin,  seemed  another's.  This  other,  like 
some  dear  ideal  on  the  way  to  realisation,  had 
taken  him  prisoner.  The  queer  sense  of  antici- 
pation Bourcelles  had  fostered  was  now  actual  ex- 
pectation, as  though  some  Morning  Spider  had 
borne  his  master- longing,  exquisitely  fashioned  by 
the  Story,  across  the  Universe,  and  the  summons 
had  been  answered — from  the  Pleiades.  The  in- 
destructible threads  of  thought  and  feeling  tightened. 
The  more  he  thought  about  his  cousin's  interpreta- 
tion the  more  he  found  in  it  a  loveliness  and  purity, 
a  crystal  spiritual  quality,  that  he  could  credit  neither 
to  the  author's  mind  nor  to  his  own.  This  soft  and 
starry  brilliance  was  another's.  Up  to  a  point  the 
interpretation  came  through  Daddy's  brain,  just  as 
the  raw  material  came  through  his  own  ;  but  there- 
after this  other  had  appropriated  both,  as  their  original 
creator  and  proprietor.  Some  shining,  delicate  hand 
reached  down  from  its  starry  home  and  gathered  in 
this  exquisite  form  built  up  from  the  medley  of  fairy 
thought  and  beauty  that  were  first  its  own.  The 
owner  of  that  little  hand  would  presently  appear  to 
claim  it. 

'  We  were  but  channels  after  all  then — both  of  us,' 
was  the  idea  that  lay  so  insistently  in  him.  '  The 
sea  of  thought  sends  waves  in  all  directions.  They 
roll  into  different  harbours.  I  caught  the  feeling, 
he  supplied  the  form,  but  this  other  lit  the  original 
fire!' 

And  further  than  this  wumbled  conclusion  he 
could    not    get.      He  went   about    his    daily   work. 


442        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND    CH.  xxx 

however,  with  a  secret  happiness  tugging  at  his  mind 
all  day,  and  a  sense  of  expectant  wonder  glancing 
brightly  over  everything  he  thought  or  did.  He  was 
a  prisoner  in  fairyland,  and  what  he  called  his  outer 
and  his  inner  world  were,  after  all,  but  different  ways 
of  looking  at  one  and  the  same  thing.  Life  every- 
where was  one. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

Es  stehen  unbeweglich 

Die  Sterne  in  der  H(3h' 

Viel  tausend  Jahr',  und  schauen 

Sich  an  mit  Liebesweh. 

Sie  sprechen  eine  Sprache, 
Die  ist  so  reich,  so  sch5n  ; 
Doch  keiner  der  Philologen 
Kann  diese  Sprache  verstehen. 

Ich  aber  hab'  sie  gelernet, 
Und  ich  vergesse  sie  nicht  ; 
Mir  diente  als  Grammatik 
Der  Herzallerliebsten  Gesicht. 

Heine. 

One  evening  in  particular  the  sense  of  expectation  in 
him  felt  very  close  upon  delivery.  All  day  he  had 
been  aware  of  it,  and  a  letter  received  that  morning 
from  his  cousin  seemed  the  cause.  The  story,  in  its 
shorter  version,  had  been  accepted.  Its  reality,  there- 
fore, had  already  spread  ;  one  other  mind,  at  least, 
had  judged  it  with  understanding.  Two  months 
from  now,  when  it  appeared  in  print,  hundreds  more 
would  read  it.  Its  beauty  would  run  loose  in  many 
hearts.  And  Rogers  went  about  his  work  that  day 
as  though  the  pleasure  was  his  own.  The  world  felt 
very  sweet.  He  saw  the  good  in  every  one  with 
whom  he  came  in  contact.  And  the  inner  excitement 
due  to  something  going  to  happen  was  continuous  and 
cumulative. 

Yet  London  just  then — it  was  August — was  dull 

443 


444        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

and  empty,  dusty,  and  badly  frayed  at  the  edges. 
It  needed  a  great  cleaning  ;  he  would  have  liked 
to  pour  sea  water  over  all  its  streets  and  houses, 
bathed  its  panting  parks  in  the  crystal  fountains 
of  Bourcelles.  All  day  long  his  thoughts,  indeed, 
left  London  for  holidays  in  little  Bourcelles.  He 
was  profoundly  conscious  that  the  Anticipation  he 
first  recognised  in  that  forest  village  was  close  upon 
accomplishment  now.  On  the  journey  back  to  England 
he  recalled  how  urgent  it  had  been.  In  London,  ever 
since,  it  had  never  really  left  him.  But  to-day  it 
now  suddenly  became  more  than  expectation — he  felt 
it  in  him  as  a  certainty  that  approached  fulfilment. 
It  was  strange,  it  was  bewildering  ;  it  seemed  to  him 
as  though  something  from  that  under-self  he  could 
never  properly  reach  within  him,  pushed  upwards 
with  a  kind  of  aggressive  violence  towards  the  surface. 
It  was  both  sweet  and  vital.  Behind  the  '  something  ' 
was  the  '  some  one  '  who  led  it  into  action. 

At  half-past  six  he  strolled  down  a  deserted  St. 
James's  Street,  passed  the  door  of  his  club  with  no 
temptation  to  go  in,  and  climbed  the  stairs  slowly  to 
his  rooms.  His  body  was  languid  though  his  mind 
alert.  He  sank  into  an  arm-chair  beside  the  open 
window.  *  I  must  do  something  to-night,'  he  thought 
eagerly  ;  '  mere  reading  at  the  club  is  out  of  the 
question.  I'll  go  to  a  theatre  or — or — .'  He  con- 
sidered various  alternatives,  deciding  finally  upon 
Richmond  Park.  He  loved  long  walks  at  night 
when  his  mind  was  restless  thus  ;  the  air  in  Richmond 
Park  was  peculiarly  fresh  and  scented  after  dark. 
He  knew  the  little  gate  that  was  never  closed.  He 
would  dine  lightly,  and  go  for  a  ten-mile  stretch 
among  the  oaks,  surprise  the  deer  asleep,  listen  to 
the  hum   of  distant    London,    and   watch   the   fairy 


xxxi        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        445 

battle  between  the  lurid  reflection  of  its  million  lights 
and  the  little  stars.  .  .  .  There  were  places  in  the 
bracken  where.  .  .  . 

The  rumbling  clatter  of  a  railway  van  disturbed 
the  picture.  His  mind  followed  the  noise  instead. 
Thought  flashed  along  the  street  to  a  station.  He 
saw  trains.   .  .   . 

*  Come  at  once  !  You're  wanted  here — some  one 
calls  you  ! '  sounded  a  breathless  merry  voice  beside 
him.     *  Come  quickly  ;   aussi  schnell  que  mSglich  ! ' 

There  was  a  great  gulp  of  happiness  in  him  ;  his 
spirit  plunged  in  joy.  He  turned  and  looked  about 
him  swiftly.  That  singing  voice,  with  its  impudent 
mingling  of  languages  was  unmistakable. 

*  From  the  Pleiades.  Look  sharp  !  You've  been 
further  off  than  ever  lately,  and  further  is  further  than 
farther — much  !  Over  the  forests  and  into  the  cave, 
that  is  the  way  we  must  all  behave !  ' 

He  opened  an  eye. 

Between  him  and  a  great  gold  sunset  ran  the 
wind.  It  was  a  slender  violet  wind.  The  sunset, 
however,  was  in  the  act  of  disappearing  for  the 
Scaffolding  of  Dusk  was  passing  through  the  air — 
he  saw  the  slung  trellis-work  about  him,  the  tracery 
of  a  million  lines,  the  guy-ropes,  uprights,  and  the 
feathery  threads  of  ebony  that  trailed  the  Night 
behind  them  like  a  mighty  cloth.  There  was  a 
fluttering  as  of  innumerable  wings. 

'  You  needn't  tug  like  that,'  he  gasped.  '  I'm 
coming  all  right.     I'm  out !  ' 

1  But  you're  so  slaw  and  sticky,'  she  insisted. 
'  You've  been  sticky  like  this  for  weeks  now ! ' 

He  saw  the  bright  brown  eyes  and  felt  the  hair  all 
over  his  face  like  a  bath  of  perfume.  They  rushed 
together.     His  heart  beat  faster.  .  .  . 


446       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

'  Who  wants  me  in  such  a  hurry  ?  '  he  cried,  the 
moment  he  was  disentangled.  Laughter  ran  past 
him  on  every  side  from  the  world  of  trees. 

'  As  if  you  didn't  know  !  What  is  the  good  of 
pretending  any  longer  !  You're  both  together  in  the 
Network,  and  you  know  it  just  as  well  as  she  does  ! ' 

Pretending  !     Just  as  well  as  she  does  ! 

As  though  he  had  eyes  all  over  his  body  he  saw  the 
Net  of  Stars  above  him.  Below  were  forests,  vine- 
yards, meadows,  and  the  tiny  lights  of  houses.  In 
the  distance  shimmered  the  waters  of  a  familiar  lake. 
Great  purple  mountains  rolled  against  the  sky  line. 
But  immediately  over  his  head,  close  yet  also  distant, 
filling  the  entire  heavens,  there  hung  a  glittering 
Pattern  that  he  knew,  grown  now  so  vast  that  at  first 
he  scarcely  recognised  its  dazzling  loveliness.  From 
the  painted  western  horizon  it  stretched  to  other 
fastenings  that  dipped  below  the  world,  where  the 
East  laid  its  gulfs  of  darkness  to  surprise  the  sun. 
It  swung  proudly  down,  as  though  hung  from  the 
Pole  Star  towards  the  north,  and  while  the  Great  Bear 
*  pointers '  tossed  its  embroidery  across  Cassiopeia,  the 
Pleiades,  just  rising,  flung  its  further  fringes  down  to 
Orion,  waiting  in  wonder  to  receive  them  far  below 
the  horizon.  Old  Sirius  wore  one  breadth  of  it 
across  his  stupendous  shoulder,  and  Aldebaran,  with 
fingers  of  bronze  and  fire,  drew  it  delicately  as  with 
golden  leashes  over  the  sleeping  world. 

When  first  he  saw  it,  there  was  this  gentle  flutter- 
ing as  of  wings  through  all  its  intricate  parts,  but  the 
same  moment  four  shooting  stars  pierced  its  outlying 
edges  with  flying  nails  of  gold.  It  steadied  and  grew 
taut. 

'  There  she  is  ! '  cried  Monkey,  flashing  away  like 
a  comet  towards  the  Cave.     '  You'll  catch  it  now — 


A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        447 

and  you  deserve  to !  '  She  turned  a  brilliant  somer- 
sault and  vanished. 

Then,  somehow,  the  vast  Pattern  settled  into  a 
smaller  scale,  so  that  he  saw  it  closer,  clearer,  and 
without  confusion.  Beauty  and  wonder  focused  for 
his  sight.  The  perfected  design  of  Daddy's  fairy 
story  floated  down  into  his  heart  without  a  hint  of 
wumbling.  Never  had  he  seen  it  so  luminous  and 
simple.  For  others,  of  course,  meanwhile  had  known 
and  understood  it.  Others  believed.  Its  reality  was 
more  intense,  thus,  than  before. 

He  rose  from  the  maze  of  tree-tops  where  he 
floated,  and  stretched  his  arms  out,  no  fear  or  hesita- 
tion in  him  anywhere.  Perched  in  the  very  centre 
of  the  Pattern,  seated  like  a  new-born  star  upon  its 
throne,  he  saw  that  tiny  figure  who  had  thrilled  him 
months  ago  when  he  caught  it  in  a  passing  instant, 
fluttering  in  the  web  of  Daddy's  story, — both  its 
climax  and  its  inspiration.  The  twinkling  feet  were 
folded  now.  He  saw  the  soft  little  eyes  that  shone 
like  starlight  through  clear  amber.  The  hands, 
palms  upwards,  were  stretched  to  meet  his  own. 

'You,  of  course,  must  come  up — to  me,'  he 
heard. 

And  climbing  the  lace-like  tracery  of  the  golden 
web,  he  knelt  before  her.  But,  almost  before  both 
knees  were  bent,  her  hands  had  caught  him — the 
touch  ran  like  a  sheath  of  fire  through  every  nerve — 
and  he  was  seated  beside  her  in  that  shining  centre. 

'  But  why  did  it  suddenly  grow  small  ?  '  he  asked 
at  once.  He  felt  absolutely  at  home.  It  was  like 
speaking  to  a  child  who  loved  him  utterly,  and  whom 
he,  in  his  turn,  knew  intimately  inside  out. 

1  Because  you  suddenly  understood,'  was  the  silvery, 
tiny   answer.      '  When   you   understand,   you   bring 


448        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

everything  into  yourself,  small  as  a  toy.  It  is  size 
that  bewilders.  Men  make  size.  Fairy  things,  like 
stars  and  tenderness,  are  always  small.' 

'  Of  course,'  he  said  ;  '  as  if  I  didn't  know  it 
already  ! ' 

'  Besides,'  she  laughed,  half  closing  her  brilliant 
eyes  and  peering  at  him  mischievously,  '  I  like  every- 
thing so  tiny  that  you  can  find  it  inside  a  shell.  That 
makes  it  possible  to  do  big  things.' 

'  Am   /  too   big ? '   he    exclaimed,   aware   of 

clumsiness  before  this  exquisite  daintiness. 

'  A  little  confused,  that's  all,'  her  laughter  rippled. 
'  You  want  smoothing  down.     I'll  see  to  that.' 

He  had  the  feeling,  as  she  said  it,  that  his  being 
included  the  entire  Pattern,  even  to  its  most  distant 
edges  where  it  fastened  on  to  the  rim  of  the  universe. 
From  this  huge  sensation,  he  came  back  swiftly  to  its 
tiny  correspondence  again.  His  eyes  turned  to  study 
her.  But  she  seemed  transparent  somehow,  so  that 
he  saw  the  sky  behind  her,  and  in  it,  strangely 
enough — just  behind  her  face — the  distant  Pleiades, 
shining  faintly  with  their  tender  lustre.  They  reached 
down  into  her  little  being,  it  seemed,  as  though  she 
emanated  from  them.  Big  Aldebaran  guided  strongly 
from  behind.  For  an  instant  he  lost  sight  of  the 
actual  figure,  seeing  in  its  place  a  radiant  efflorescence, 
purified  as  by  some  spiritual  fire — the  Spirit  of  a  Star. 

'  I'm  here,  quite  close  beside  you,'  whispered  the 
tiny  voice.  *  Don't  let  your  sight  get  troublesome  like 
your  size.      Inside-sight,  remember,  is  the  thing  ! ' 

He  turned,  or  rather  he  focused  sight  again  to 
find  her.  He  was  startled  a  little.  For  a  moment 
it  seemed  like  his  own  voice  speaking  deep  down 
within  himself. 

4  Make  yourself  at  home,'  it  continued,  *  you  belong 


xxxi        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        449 

here — almost  as  much  as  I  do.'  And  at  the  sound  of 
her  voice  all  the  perplexities  of  his  life  lay  down.  It 
brushed  him  smooth,  like  a  wind  that  sets  rough 
feathers  all  one  way. 

He  remembered  again  where  he  was,  and  what 
was  going  on. 

'  I  do,'  he  answered,  happy  as  a  boy.  '  I  am  at 
home.     It  is  perfect.' 

'  Do  you,  indeed  !  You  speak  as  though  this 
story  were  your  own  ! ' 

And  her  laugh  was  like  the  tinkle  of  hare-bells  in 
the  wind. 

'  It  is,'  he  said  ;  l  at  least  I  had — I  have,  rather,  a 
considerable  hand  in  the  making  of  it.' 

'  Possibly,'  she  answered,  '  but  the  story  belongs 
to  the  person  who  first  started  it.  And  that  person 
is  myself.     The  story  is  mine  really  ! ' 

'  Yours  ! '  he  gasped. 

'  Because — I  am  the  story  ! ' 

He  stared  hard  to  find  the  face  that  said  this 
thing.  Thought  stopped  dead  a  moment,  blocked 
by  a  marvel  that  was  impossible,  yet  true. 

1  You  mean ?  '  he  stammered. 

*  You  heard  perfectly  what  I  said  ;  you  understood 
it,  too.  There's  no  good  pretending,'  impatience  as 
well  as  laughter  in  the  little  voice.  '  I  am  the  story, — 
the  story  that  you  love.' 

A  sudden  joy  burst  over  him  in  a  flood.  Struggle 
and  search  folded  their  wings  and  slept.  An  immense 
happiness  wrapped  him  into  the  very  woof  of  the 
pattern  wherein  they  sat.  A  thousand  loose  and 
ineffective  moods  of  his  life  found  coherence,  as 
a  thousand  rambling  strands  were  gathered  home 
and  fastened  into  place. 

And  the  Pattern  quivered  and  grew  brighter. 

2  c 


450       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

'  I  am  the  story  because  I  thought  of  it  first.  You, 
as  a  version  of  its  beauty — a  channel  for  its  delivery — 
belong  utterly  to  me.  You  can  no  more  resist  me 
than  a  puddle  can  resist  the  stars'  reflection.  You 
increase  me.     We  increase  each  other.' 

'  You  say  you  thought  it  first,'  he  cried,  feeling 
the  light  he  radiated  flow  in  and  mingle  with  her 
own.  '  But  who  are  you  ?  Where  do  you  come 
from  ? ' 

'  Over  there  somewhere,  I  think,'  she  laughed, 
while  a  ray  like  fire  flashed  out  in  the  direction  of 
the  Pleiades  that  climbed  the  sky  towards  the  East. 
'  You  ought  to  know.  You've  been  hunting  for  me 
long  enough  ! ' 

'  But  who  are  you  ? '  he  insisted  again,  '  for  I  feel 
it's  you  that  have  been  looking  for  me  —  I've  so 
often  heard  you  calling  !  ' 

She  laughed  again  till  the  whole  web  quivered. 
Through  her  eyes  the  softness  of  all  the  seven 
Pleiades  poured  deliciously  into  him. 

*  It's  absurd  that  such  a  big  thing  as  you  could 
hide  so  easily,'  she  said.  '  But  you'll  never  hide 
again.  I've  got  you  fast  now.  And  you've  got  me  ! 
It's  like  being  reflected  together  in  the  same  puddle, 
you  see  ! ' 

The  dazzling  radiance  passed  as  she  said  it  into  a 
clearer  glow,  and  across  the  fire  of  it  he  caught  her 
eyes  steadily  a  moment,  though  he  could  not  see  the 
face  complete.  Two  brilliant  points  of  amber  shone 
up  at  him,  as  stars  that  peep  from  the  mirror  of  a 
forest  pool.  That  mental  daylight-searching  seemed 
all  explained,  only  he  could  not  remember  now  that 
there  was  any  such  thing  at  all  as  either  searching  or 
daylight.  When  '  out '  like  this,  waking  was  the 
dream — the  sunlight  world  forgotten. 


xxxi        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        451 

'  This  Pattern  has  always  been  my  own,'  she  con- 
tinued with  infinite  softness,  yet  so  clearly  that  his 
whole  body  seemed  a  single  ear  against  her  lips,  '  for 
I've  thought  it  ever  since  I  can  remember.  I've  lived 
it.  This  Network  of  Stars  I  made  ages  ago  in  a  garden 
among  far  bigger  mountains  than  these  hills,  a  garden 
I  knew  vividly,  yet  could  not  always  find — almost 
as  though  I  dreamed  it.  The  Net  included  the — oh, 
included  everything  there  is,  and  I  fastened  it  to  four 
big  pines  that  grew  on  the  further  side  of  the  torrent 
in  that  mountain  garden  of  my  dream — fastened  it 
with  nails  of  falling  stars.  And  I  made  the  Pleiades 
its  centre  because  I  loved  them  best  of  all.  Oh  ! 
Orion,  Orion,  how  big  and  comforting  your  arms 
are  !     Please  hold  me  tight  for  ever  and  ever  ! ' 

'  But  I  know  it,  too,  that  lovely  dream,'  he  cried. 
'  It  all  comes  back  to  me.     I,  too,  have  dreamed  it 

with  you  then  somewhere — somewhere ! '     His 

voice  choked.  He  had  never  known  that  life  could 
hold  such  sweetness,  wonder,  joy.  The  universe  lay 
within  his  arms. 

'  All  the  people  I  wanted  to  help  I  used  to  catch 
in  my  Net  of  Stars,'  she  went  on.  '  There  was  a 
train  that  brought  them  up  to  its  edges,  and  once  I 
got  the  passengers  into  the  web,  and  hung  them 
loose  in  it  till  they  were  soaked  with  starlight,  I  could 
send  them  back  happier  and  braver  than  they  came. 
It's  been  my  story  ever  since  I  can  remember  anything 
— my  adventure,  my  dream,  my  life.  And  when  the 
great  Net  faded  a  little  and  wanted  brightening,  we 
knew  an  enormous  cavern  in  the  mountains  where 
lost  starlight  collected,  and  we  used  to  gather  this  in 
thousands  of  sacks,  and  wash  and  paint  the  entire 
web  afresh.  That  made  it  sticky,  so  that  the  passen- 
gers   hung   in    it   longer.      Don't    you    remember  ? 


452        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

They  came  back  with  starlight  in  their  hair  and  eyes 
and  voices — and  in  their  hearts.' 

c  And  the  way  you — we  got  them  into  the  Net,' 
he  interrupted  excitedly,  '  was  by  understanding  them 
— by  feeling  with  them ' 

'  Sympathy,'  she  laughed,  *  of  course  !  Only  there 
were  so  many  I  could  not  reach  and  could  not  under- 
stand, and  so  could  never  get  in.  In  particular  there 
was  some  one  who  ought  to  have  been  there  to  help 
me.  If  I  could  find  that  some  one  I  could  do  twice 
as  much.  I  searched  and  searched.  I  hunted  through 
every  corner  of  the  garden,  through  forest,  cavern,  sky, 
but  never  with  success.  Orion  never  overtook  me  ! 
My  longing  cried  everywhere,  but  in  vain.  Oh,  Orion, 
my  lost  Orion,  I  have  found  you  now  at  last !  .  .  . 
The  Net  flashed  messages  in  all  directions,  but  with- 
out response.  This  some  one  who  could  make  my 
work  complete  existed — that  I  knew — only  he  was 
hidden  somewhere  out  of  sight — concealed  in  some 
corner  or  other,  veiled  by  a  darkness  that  he  wove 
about  himself — as  though  by  some  funny  kind  of 
wrong  thinking  that  obscured  the  light  I  searched 
for  and  made  it  too  dim  to  reach  me  properly.  His 
life  or  mind — his  thought  and  feeling,  that  is — were 
wumbled ' 

'  Wumbled ! '  he  cried,  as  the  certainty  burst  upon 
him  with  the  password.  He  stood  close  to  her, 
opening  his  arms. 

Instantly  she  placed  her  golden  palm  upon  his 
mouth,  with  fingers  that  were  like  soft  star- rays. 
Her  words,  as  she  continued,  were  sweeter  than  the 
footfalls  of  the  Pleiades  when  they  rise  above  the  sea. 

'  Yet  there  were  times  when  we  were  so  close  that 
we  could  feel  each  other,  and  each  wondered  why  the 
other  did  not  actually  appear.     I  have  been  trying,' 


xxxi        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       453 

she  whispered,  oh  so  dearly, '  to  find  you  always.  And 
you  knew  it,  too,  for  I've  felt  you  searching  too.   .   .   .' 

The  outlying  skirts  of  the  Pattern  closed  in  a 
little,  till  the  edges  gathered  over  them  like  a  tent  of 
stars.  Alone  in  the  heart  of  the  universe  they  told 
their  secret  very  softly.   .   .   . 

'  There  are  twin-stars,  you  know,'  she  whispered, 
when  he  released  her,  '  that  circle  so  close  about  each 
other  that  they  look  like  one.  I  wonder,  oh,  I 
wonder,  do  they  ever  touch  ! ' 

'  They  are  apart  in  order  to  see  one  another  better,' 
he  murmured.  '  They  watch  one  another  more 
sweetly  so.  They  play  at  separation  for  the  joy  of 
coming  together  again.' 

And  once  more  the  golden  Pattern  hid  them  for 
a  moment  from  the  other  stars.  .  .  .  The  shafts  of 
night-fire  played  round  and  above  their  secret  tent 
in  space.  .  .  .  Most  marvellously  their  beings  found 
each  other  in  the  great  whispering  galleries  of  the 
world  where  Thought  and  Yearning  know  that  first 
fulfilment  which  is  the  source  of  action  later.   .   .   . 

'  So,  now  that  I  have  found  you,'  her  voice  pre- 
sently went  on,  '  our  Network  shall  catch  everybody 
everywhere.  For  the  Pattern  of  my  story,  woven  so 
long  ago,  has  passed  through  you  as  through  a  channel 
— to  another  who  can  give  it  forth.  It  will  spread 
across  every  sky.     All,  all  will  see  it  and  climb  up.' 

'  My  scheme '  he  cried,  with  eager  delight,  yet 

not  quite  certain  what  he  meant,  nor  whence  the 
phrase  proceeded. 

'  Was  my  thought  first,'  she  laughed,  '  when  you 
were  a  little  boy  and  I  was  a  little  girl — somewhere 
in  a  garden  very  long  ago.  A  ray  from  its  pattern 
touched  you  into  beauty.  Though  I  could  do  nothing 
with  it  myself,  one  little  ray  shot  into  the  mirror  of 


454        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

your  mind  and  instantly  increased  itself.     But  then, 
you  hid  yourself;  the  channel  closed ' 

'  It  never  died,  though,'  he  interrupted  ;  '  the  ray, 
I  mean.' 

'  It  waited,'  she  went  on,  'until  you  found  chil- 
dren somewhere,  and  the  channel  cleared  instantly. 
Through  you,  opened  up  and  cleaned  by  them,  my 
pattern  rushed  headlong  into  another  who  can  use  it. 
It  could  never  die,  of  course.  And  the  long  repres- 
sion— I  never  ceased  to  live  it — made  its  power  irre- 
sistible.' 

'  Your  story  ! '  he  cried.     '  It  is  indeed  your  story.' 

The  eyes  were  so  close  against  his  own  that  he 
made  a  movement  that  was  like  diving  into  a  deep 
and  shining  sea  to  reach  them.  .  .  .  The  Pleiades 
rushed  instantly  past  his  face.  .  .  .  Soft  filaments  of 
golden  texture  stroked  his  very  cheeks.  That  slender 
violet  wind  rose  into  his  hair.  He  saw  other  larger 
winds  behind  it,  deeply  coloured.  .  .  .  Something 
made  him  tremble  all  over  like  a  leaf  in  a  storm. 
He  saw,  then,  the  crest  of  the  sentinel  poplar  tossing 
between  him  and  the  earth  far,  far  below.  A  mist 
of  confusion  caught  him,  so  that  he  knew  not  where 
he  was.  .  .  .  He  made  an  effort  to  remember  .  .  . 
a  violent  effort.  .  .  .  Some  strange  sense  of  heaviness 
oppressed  him.   .   .  .   He  was  leaving  her. 

'  Quick  !  '  he  tried  to  cry  ;  '  be  quick  !  I  am 
changing.  I  am  drowsy  with  your  voice  and  beauty. 
Your  eyes  have  touched  me,  and  I  am  —  falling 
asleep  ! '     His  voice  grew  weaker  as  he  said  it. 

Her  answer  sounded  faint,  and  far  above  him  : 

'  Give  me  .  .  .  your  .  .  .  hand.  Touch  me. 
Come  away  with  me  .  .  .  to  .  .  .  my  .  .  .  garden 
.  .  .  in  the  mountains.  .  .  .  We  may  wake  together 
.  .  .  You  are  waking  now  .   .  .  ! ' 


Xxxi        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        455 

He  made  an  effort  to  find  her  little  palm.  But 
the  wind  swept  coldly  between  his  opened  fingers. 

*  Waking  ! — what  is  it  ? '  he  cried  thinly.  He 
thought  swiftly  of  something  vague  and  muddy — 
something  dull,  disordered,  incomplete.  Here  it  was 
all  glass-clear.  '  Where  are  you  ?  I  can't  find  you. 
I  can't  see  ! ' 

A  dreadful,  searching  pain  shot  through  him.  He 
was  losing  her,  just  when  he  had  found  her.  He 
struggled,  clung,  fought  frantically  to  hold  her.  But 
his  fingers  seized  the  air. 

'  Oh,  I  shall  find  you — even  when  you  wake,' 
he  heard  far  away  among  the  stars.  '  Try  and  re- 
member me — when  I  come.     Try  and  remember.  .  .  .' 

It  dipped  into  the  distance.  He  had  lost  her. 
He  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Pleiades  as  he  fell  at  a 
fearful  speed.  Some  one  behind  them  picked  up 
stars  and  tossed  them  after  him.  They  dimmed  as 
they  shot  by — from  gold  to  white,  from  white  to 
something  very  pale.  Behind  them  rose  a  wave  of 
light  that  hurt  his  eyes. 

'  Look  out !  The  Interfering  Sun  ! '  came  a  dis- 
appearing voice  that  was  followed  by  a  peal  of 
laughter.  '  I  hope  you  found  her,  and  I  hope  you 
caught  it  well.     You  deserved  to.   .  .   .' 

There  was  a  scent  of  hair  that  he  loved,  a  vision 
of  mischievous  brown  eyes,  an  idea  that  somebody 
was  turning  a  somersault  beside  him — and  then  he 
landed  upon  the  solid  earth  with  a  noise  like  thunder. 

The  room  was  dark.  At  first  he  did  not  recog- 
nise it.  Through  the  open  window  came  the  clatter 
of  lumbering  traffic  that  passed  heavily  down  St. 
James's  Street.  He  rose  stiffly  from  his  chair,  vexed 
with  himself  for  having  dozed.  It  was  more  than  a 
doze,  though  ;  he  had  slept  some  thirty  minutes  by 


456        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

his  watch.  No  memory  of  any  dreams  was  in  him 
— nothing  but  a  feeling  of  great  refreshing  lightness 
and  peace.   .   .   . 

It  was  wonderful,  he  reflected,  as  he  changed 
into  country  clothes  for  his  walk  in  Richmond 
Park,  how  even  the  shortest  nap  revives  the  brain 
and  body.  There  was  a  sense  that  an  immense 
interval  had  elapsed,  and  that  something  very  big 
had  happened  or  was  going  to  happen  to  him  very 
soon.   .  .   .' 

And  an  hour  later  he  passed  through  the  Rich- 
mond Gate  and  found  the  open  spaces  of  the  Park 
deserted,  as  they  always  were.  The  oaks  and  bracken 
rustled  in  a  gentle  breeze.  The  swishing  of  his  boots 
through  the  wet  grass  was  the  only  sound  he  heard, 
for  the  boom  and  purr  of  distant  London  reached 
him  more  as  touch  than  as  something  audible.  Seated 
on  a  fallen  tree,  he  watched  the  stars  and  listened  to 
the  wind.  That  hum  and  boom  of  the  city  seemed 
underground,  the  flare  it  tossed  into  the  sky  rose 
from  vast  furnaces  below  the  world.  The  stars  danced 
lightly  far  beyond  its  reach,  secure  and  unafraid. 
He  thought  of  children  dancing  with  twinkling  feet 
upon  the  mountains.  .   .   , 

And  in  himself  there  was  hum  and  light  as  well. 
Too  deep,  too  far  below  the  horizon  for  full  dis- 
covery, he  caught  the  echo,  the  faint,  dim  flashings 
of  reflection  that  are  called  by  men  a  Mood.  These, 
rising  to  the  surface,  swept  over  him  with  the  queer 
joy  of  intoxicating  wonder  that  only  children  know. 
Some  great  Secret  he  had  to  tell  himself,  only  he  had 
kept  it  so  long  and  so  well  that  he  could  not  find 
it  quite.  He  felt  the  thrill,  yet  had  forgotten  what 
it  was. 

Something  was  going  to  happen.     A  new  footfall 


xxxi        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        457 

was  coming  across  the  world  towards  him.  He 
could  almost  hear  its  delicate,  swift  tread.  Life  was 
about  to  offer  him  this  delicious,  thrilling  secret — 
very  soon.  Looking  up  he  saw  the  Pleiades,  and  the 
single  footfall  became  many.  He  remembered  that 
former  curious  obsession  of  the  Pleiades  .  .  .  and 
as  Thought  and  Yearning  went  roaming  into  space, 
they  met  Anticipation,  who  took  them  by  the  hand. 
It  seemed,  then,  that  children  came  flocking  down 
upon  him  from  the  sky,  led  by  a  little  figure  with 
starry  eyes  of  clearest  amber,  a  pair  of  tiny  twinkling 
feet,  and  a  voice  quite  absurdly  soft  and  tender. 

'  Your  time  is  coming,'  he  heard  behind  the 
rustling  of  the  oak  leaves  overhead,  '  for  the  children 
are  calling  to  you — children  of  your  own.  And  this 
is  the  bravest  Scheme  in  all  the  world.  There  is  no 
bigger.  How  can  there  be  ?  For  all  the  world  is  a 
child  that  goes  past  your  windows  crying  for  its  lost 
Fairyland  .  .   .  !  ' 

It  was  after  midnight  when  at  length  he  slipped 
through  the  Robin  Hood  Gate,  passed  up  Priory 
Lane,  and  walked  rapidly  by  the  shuttered  nouses  of 
Roehampton.  And,  looking  a  moment  over  Putney 
Bridge,  he  saw  the  reflections  of  the  stars  in  the 
muddy,  dawdling  Thames.  Nothing  anywhere  was 
thick  enough  to  hide  them.  The  Net  of  Stars,  being 
in  his  heart,  was  everywhere.  No  prisoner  could  be 
more  securely  caught  than  he  was. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

Asia.  The  point  of  one  white  star  is  quivering  still 
Deep  in  the  orange  light  of  widening  morn 
Beyond  the  purple  mountains  :   through  a  chasm 
Of  wind-divided  mist  the  darker  lake 
Reflects  it  :  now  it  wanes  :   it  gleams  again 
As  the  waves  fade,  and  as  the  burning  threads 
Of  woven  cloud  unravel  in  the  pale  air  : 
'Tis  lost  !  and  through  yon  peaks  of  cloud-like  snow 
The  roseate  sunlight  quivers  :  hear  I  not 
The  ^olian  music  of  her  sea-green  plumes 
Winnowing  the  crimson  dawn  ? 

Prometheus  Unbound,  Shelley. 

August  had  blazed  its  path  into  September,  and 
September  had  already  trimmed  her  successor's  gown 
with  gold  and  russet  before  Henry  Rogers  found 
himself  free  again  to  think  of  holidays.  London 
had  kept  its  grip  upon  him  all  these  weeks  while  the 
rest  of  the  world  was  gay  and  irresponsible.  He 
was  so  absurdly  conscientious.  One  of  his  Com- 
panies had  got  into  difficulties,  and  he  was  the  only 
man  who  could  save  the  shareholders'  money.  The 
Patent  Coal  Dust  Fuel  Company,  Ltd.,  had  bought 
his  invention  for  blowing  fine  coal  dust  into  a  furnace 
whereby  an  intense  heat  was  obtainable  in  a  few 
minutes.  The  saving  in  material,  time,  and  labour 
was  revolutionary.  Rogers  had  received  a  large  sum 
in  cash,  though  merely  a  nominal  number  of  the 
common  shares.  It  meant  little  to  him  if  the  Com- 
pany collapsed,  and  an  ordinary  Director  would  have 

458 


ch.xxxi.  A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       459 

been  content  with  sending  counsel  through  the  post 
in  the  intervals  of  fishing  and  shooting.  But  Henry 
Rogers  was  of  a  different  calibre.  The  invention 
was  his  child,  born  by  hard  labour  out  of  loving 
thought.  The  several  thousand  shareholders  be- 
lieved  in  him  :  they  were  his  neighbours.  Incom- 
petence and  extravagance  threatened  failure.  He 
took  a  room  in  the  village  near  the  Essex  factories, 
and  gave  his  personal  energy  and  attention  to  restor- 
ing economical  working  of  every  detail.  He  wore 
overalls.  He  put  intelligence  into  hired  men  and 
foremen  ;  he  spent  his  summer  holiday  turning  a 
system  of  waste  into  the  basis  of  a  lucrative  industry. 
The  shareholders  would  never  know  whose  faithful- 
ness had  saved  them  loss,  and  at  the  most  his  thanks 
would  be  a  formal  paragraph  in  the  Report  at  the 
end  of  the  year.  Yet  he  was  satisfied,  and  worked 
as  though  his  own  income  depended  on  success.  For 
he  knew — of  late  this  certainty  had  established  itself 
in  him,  influencing  all  he  did — that  faithful  labour, 
backed  by  steady  thinking,  must  reach  ten  thousand 
wavering  characters,  merge  with  awakening  tendencies 
in  them,  and  slip  thence  into  definite  daily  action. 
Action  was  thought  materialised.  He  helped  the 
world.  A  copybook  maxim  thus  became  a  weapon 
of  tempered  steel.  His  Scheme  was  bigger  than  any 
hospital  for  disabled  bodies.  It  would  still  be  cumu- 
lative when  bodies  and  bricks  were  dust  upon  the 
wind.  It  must  increase  by  geometrical  progression 
through  all  time. 

It  was  largely  to  little  Minks  that  he  owed  this 
positive  conviction  and  belief,  to  that  ridiculous,  high- 
souled  Montmorency  Minks,  who,  while  his  master 
worked  in  overalls,  took  the  air  himself  on  Clapham 
Common,  or  pored  with  a  wet  towel  round  his  brow 


46o        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      chap. 

beneath  the  oleograph  of  Napoleon  in  the  attempt  to 
squeeze  his  exuberant  emotion  into  tripping  verse. 
For  Minks  admired  intensely  from  a  distance.  He 
attended  to  the  correspondence  in  the  flat,  and  made 
occasional  visits  down  to  Essex,  but  otherwise  en- 
joyed a  kind  of  extra  holiday  of  his  own.  For 
Minks  was  not  learned  in  coal  dust.  The  com- 
bustion was  in  his  eager  brain.  He  produced  an 
amazing  series  of  lyrics  and  sonnets,  though  too  high- 
flown,  alas,  to  win  a  place  in  print.  Love  and  un- 
selfishness, as  usual,  were  his  theme,  with  a  steady 
sprinkling  of  '  the  ministry  of  Thought,'  '  true  suc- 
cess, unrecognised  by  men,  yet  noted  by  the  Angels,' 
and  so  forth.  His  master's  labour  seemed  to  him  a 
'  brilliant  form  of  purity,'  and  '  the  soul's  security ' 
came  in  admirably  to  close  the  crowded,  tortuous 
line.  'Beauty'  and  '  Duty'  were  also  thickly  present, 
both  with  capitals,  but  the  verse  that  pleased  him 
most,  and  even  thrilled  Albinia  to  a  word  of  praise, 
was  one  that  ended — '  Those  active  powers  which  are 
the  Doves  of  Thought.'  It  followed  '  neither  can  be 
sold  or  bought,'  and  Mrs.  Minks  approved,  because, 
as  she  put  it,  '  there,  now,  is  something  you  can  sell ; 
it's  striking  and  original  ;  no  editor  could  fail  to 
think  so.'  The  necessities  of  Frank  and  Ronald 
were  ever  her  standard  of  praise  or  blame. 

Thus,  it  was  the  first  week  in  October  before 
Rogers  found  himself  free  to  leave  London  behind 
him  and  think  of  a  change  of  scene.  No  planning 
was  necessary.  .  .  .  Bourcelles  was  too  constantly 
in  his  mind  all  these  weary  weeks  to  admit  of  alter- 
natives. Only  a  few  days  ago  a  letter  had  come  from 
Jinny,  saying  she  was  going  to  a  Pension  in  Geneva 
after  Christmas,  and  that  unless  he  appeared  soon  he 
would  not  see  her  again  as  she  '  was,'  a  qualification 


xxxii       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        461 

explained  by  the  postscript,  '  My  hair  will  be  up  by 
that  time.  Mother  says  I  can  put  it  up  on  Xmas 
Day.  So  please  hurry  up,  Mr.  Henry  Rogers,  if 
you  want  to  see  me  as  I  am.' 

But  another  thing  that  decided  him  was  that  the 
great  story  was  at  last  in  print.  It  was  published  in 
the  October  number  of  the  Review,  and  the  press 
had  already  paid  considerable  attention  to  it.  In- 
deed, there  was  a  notice  at  the  railway  bookstall  on 
the  day  he  left,  to  the  effect  that  the  first  edition  was 
exhausted,  and  that  a  large  second  edition  would  be 
available  almost  immediately.  'Place  your  orders 
at  once '  was  added  in  bold  red  letters.  Rogers 
bought  one  of  these  placards  for  his  cousin. 

'  It  just  shows,'  observed  Minks,  whom  he  was 
taking  out  with  him. 

1  Shows  what  ? '  inquired  his  master. 

'  How  many  more  thoughtful  people  there  are 
about,  sir,  than  one  had  any  idea  of,'  was  the  reply. 
1  The  public  mind  is  looking  for  something  of  that 
kind,  expecting  it  even,  though  it  hardly  knows 
what  it  really  wants.  That's  a  story,  Mr.  Rogers, 
that  must  change  the  point  of  view  of  all  who  read 
it — with  understanding.  It  makes  the  commonest 
man  feel  he  is  a  hero.' 

'You've  put  our  things  into  a  non-smoker, 
Minks,'  the  other  interrupted  him.  '  What  in  the 
world  are  you  thinking  about  ? ' 

c  I  beg  your  pardon,  I'm  sure,  sir  ;  so  I  have,' 
said  Minks,  blushing,  and  bundling  the  bags  along 
the  platform  to  another  empty  carriage,  '  but  that 
story  has  got  into  my  head.  I  sat  up  reading  it 
aloud  to  Mrs.  Minks  all  night.  For  it  says  the  very 
things  I  have  always  longed  to  say.  Sympathy  and 
the  transference  of  thought — to  say  nothing  of  the 


462        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

soul's  activity  when  the  body  is  asleep — have  always 
seemed  to  me ' 

He  wandered  on  while  his  companion  made  him- 
self comfortable  in  a  corner  with  his  pipe  and  news- 
paper. But  the  first  thing  Rogers  read,  as  the  train 
went  scurrying  through  Kent,  was  a  summary  of  the 
contents  of  this  very  Review.  Two -thirds  of  the 
article  was  devoted  to  the  '  Star  Story '  of  John 
Henry  Campden,  whose  name  '  entitled  his  work  to 
a  high  standard  of  criticism.'  The  notice  was  well 
written  by  some  one  evidently  of  intelligence  and 
knowledge  ;  sound  judgment  was  expressed  on  style 
and  form  and  general  execution,  but  when  it  came 
to  the  matter  itself  the  criticism  was  deplorably  mis- 
understanding. The  writer  had  entirely  missed  the 
meaning.  While  praising  the  '  cleverness '  he  asked 
plainly  between  the  lines  of  his  notice  'What  does 
it  mean  ? '  This  unconscious  exposure  of  his  own 
ignorance  amused  his  reader  while  it  also  piqued  him. 
The  critic,  expert  in  dealing  with  a  political  article, 
was  lamentably  at  sea  over  an  imaginative  story. 

'Inadequate  receiving  instrument,'  thought  Rogers, 
smiling  audibly. 

Minks,  deep  in  a  mysterious  looking  tome  in  the 
opposite  corner,  looked  up  over  his  cigarette  and 
wondered  why  his  employer  laughed.  He  read  the 
article  the  other  handed  to  him,  thinking  how  much 
better  he  could  have  done  it  himself.  Encouraged 
by  the  expression  in  Mr.  Rogers's  eyes,  he  then  im- 
parted what  the  papers  call  '  a  genuine  contribution 
to  the  thought  upon  the  subject.' 

*  The  writer  quarrels  with  him,'  he  observed,  '  for 
not  giving  what  is  expected  of  him.  What  he  has 
thought  he  must  go  on  thinking,  or  be  condemned. 
He   must   repeat    himself  or    be    uncomprehended. 


xxxii       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       463 

Hitherto' — Minks  prided  himself  upon  the  know- 
ledge— «  he  has  written  studies  of  uncommon  tem- 
peraments. Therefore  to  indulge  in  fantasy  now  is 
wrong.' 

'  Ah,  you  take  it  that  way,  do  you  ? ' 

'Experience  justifies  me,  Mr.  Rogers,'  the  secret- 
ary continued.  '  A  friend  of  mine,  or  rather  of  Mrs. 
Minks's,  once  wrote  a  volume  of  ghost  stories  that, 
of  course,  were  meant  to  thrill.  His  subsequent 
book,  with  no  such  intention,  was  judged  by  the 
object  of  the  first — as  a  failure.  It  must  make  the 
flesh  creep.  Everything  he  wrote  must  make  the 
flesh  creep.  One  of  the  papers,  the  best — a  real 
thunderer,  in  fact — said  "  Once  or  twice  the  desired 
thrill  comes  close,  but  never,  alas,  quite  comes  ofF." 

'  How  wumbled,'  exclaimed  his  listener. 

*  It  is  indeed,'  said  Minks,  '  in  fact,  one  of  the 
thorns  in  the  path  of  literature.  The  ordinary  clever 
mind  is  indeed  a  desolate  phenomenon.  And  how 
often  behind  the  "  Oxford  manner  "  lurks  the  cul- 
tured prig,  if  I  may  put  it  so.' 

1  Indeed  you  may,'  was  the  other's  rejoinder,  '  for 
you  put  it  admirably.' 

They  laughed  a  little  and  went  on  with  their 
reading  in  their  respective  corners.  The  journey 
to  Paris  was  enlivened  by  many  similar  discussions, 
Minks  dividing  his  attentions  between  his  master,  his 
volume  of  philosophy,  and  the  needs  of  various  old 
ladies,  to  whom  such  men  attach  themselves  as  by  a 
kind  of  generous,  manly  instinct.  Minks  was  always 
popular  and  inoffensive.     He  had  such  tact. 

1  Ah  !  and  that  reminds  me,  Minks,'  said  Rogers, 
as  they  paced  the  banks  of  the  Seine  that  evening, 
looking  at  the  starry  sky  over  Paris.  '  What  do  you 
know  about  the  Pleiades  ?     Anything — eh  ?  ' 


464        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

Minks  drew  with  pride  upon  his  classical  reading. 

'  The  seven  daughters  of  Atlas,  Mr.  Rogers,  if  I 
remember  correctly,  called  therefore  the  Atlantides. 
They  were  the  virgin  companions  of  Artemis.  Orion, 
the  great  hunter,  pursued  them  in  Boeotia,  and  they 
called  upon  the  gods  for  help.' 

'  And  the  gods  turned  'em  into  stars,  wasn't  it  ? ' 

'  First  into  doves,  sir — Peleiades  means  doves — and 
then  set  them  among  the  Constellations,  where  big 
Orion  still  pursues,  yet  never  overtakes  them.' 

'  Beautiful,  isn't  it?  What  a  memory  you've  got, 
Minks.     And  isn't  one  of  'em  lost  or  something  ? ' 

'  Merope,  yes,'  the  delighted  Minks  went  on.  He 
knew  it  because  he  had  looked  it  up  recently  for  his 
lyric  about  '  the  Doves  of  Thought.'  '  She  married 
a  mortal,  Sisyphus,  the  son  of  Aeolus,  and  so  shines 
more  dimly  than  the  rest.  For  her  sisters  married 
gods.  But  there  is  one  who  is  more  luminous  than 
the  others ' 

'  Ah  !  and  which  was  that  ? '  interrupted  Rogers. 

'  Maia,'  Minks  told  him  pat.  '  She  is  the  most 
beautiful  of  the  seven.  She  was  the  Mother,  too,  of 
Mercury,  the  Messenger  of  the  gods.  She  gave  birth 
to  him  in  a  cave  on  Mount  Cyllene  in  Arcadia.  Zeus 
was  the  father ' 

'  Take  care  ;  you'll  get  run  over,'  and  Rogers 
pulled  him  from  the  path  of  an  advancing  taxi-cab, 
whose  driver  swore  furiously  at  the  pair  of  them. 
'  Charming,  all  that,  isn't  it  ? ' 

'  It  is  lovely,  sir.  It  haunts  the  mind.  I 
suppose,'  he  added,  '  that's  why  your  cousin,  Mr. 
Campden,  made  the  Pleiades  the  centre  of  his  Star 
Net  in  the  story — a  cluster  of  beautiful  thoughts  as 
it  were.' 

1  No    doubt,    no    doubt,'    his    tone    so    brusque 


xxxii       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        465 

suddenly  that  Minks  decided  after  all  not  to  mention 
his  poem  where  the  Pleiades  made  their  appearance 
as  the  '  doves  of  thought.' 

'  What  a  strange  coincidence,'  Rogers  said  as  they 
turned  towards  the  hotel  again. 

'  Subconscious  knowledge,  probably,  sir,'  suggested 
the  secretary,  scarcely  following  his  meaning,  if  mean- 
ing indeed  there  was. 

'  Possibly  !  One  never  knows,  does  one  ?  ' 
'Never,  Mr.  Rogers.  It's  all  very  wonderful.' 
And  so,  towards  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  the 
following  day,  having  passed  the  time  pleasantly  in 
Paris,  the  train  bore  them  swiftly  beyond  Pontarlier 
and  down  the  steep  gradient  of  the  Gorges  de  l'Areuse 
towards  Neuchatel.  The  Val  de  Travers,  through 
which  the  railway  slips  across  the  wooded  Jura  into 
Switzerland,  is  like  a  winding  corridor  cleft  deep 
between  savage  and  precipitous  walls.  There  are 
dizzy  glimpses  into  the  gulf  below.  With  steam 
shut  off  and  brakes  partly  on,  the  train  curves 
sharply,  hiding  its  eyes  in  many  tunnels  lest  the 
passengers  turn  giddy.  Strips  of  bright  green 
meadow-land,  where  the  Areuse  flows  calmly,  alter- 
nate with  places  where  the  ravine  plunges  into 
bottomless  depths  that  have  been  chiselled  out  as 
by  a  giant  ploughshare.  Rogers  pointed  out  the 
chosen  views,  while  his  secretary  ran  from  window 
to  window,  excited  as  a  happy  child.  Such  scenery 
he  had  never  known.  It  changed  the  entire  content 
of  his  mind.  Poetry  he  renounced  finally  before 
the  first  ten  minutes  were  past.  The  descriptions 
that  flooded  his  brain  could  be  rendered  only 
by  the  most  dignified  and  stately  prose,  and  he 
floundered  among  a  welter  of  sonorous  openings 
that    later    Albinia  would    read    in    Sydenham    and 

2  H 


466        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

retail  judiciously  to  the  elder  children  from  '  Father's 
foreign  letters.' 

'  We  shall  pass  Bourcelles  in  a  moment  now  ! 
Look  out  !  Be  ready  with  your  handkerchief ! ' 
Rogers  warned  him,  as  the  train  emerged  from  the 
final  tunnel  and  scampered  between  thick  pine 
woods,  emblazoned  here  and  there  with  golden 
beeches.  The  air  was  crystal,  sparkling.  They 
could  smell  the  forests. 

They  took  their  places  side  by  side  at  the 
windows.  The  heights  of  Boudry  and  La  Tourne, 
that  stand  like  guardian  sentries  on  either  side  of 
the  mountain  gateway,  were  already  cantering 
by.  The  precipices  flew  past.  Beyond  lay  the 
smiling  slopes  of  vineyard,  field,  and  orchard, 
sprinkled  with  farms  and  villages,  of  which  Bour- 
celles came  first.  The  Areuse  flowed  peacefully 
towards  the  lake.  The  panorama  of  the  snowy 
Alps  rolled  into  view  along  the  farther  horizon, 
and  the  slanting  autumn  sunshine  bathed  the  entire 
scene  with  a  soft  and  ruddy  light.  They  entered 
the  Fairyland  of  Daddy's  story. 

'  Voila  la  sentinelle  deja  !  '  exclaimed  Rogers,  put- 
ting his  head  out  to  see  the  village  poplar.  '  We 
run  through  the  field  that  borders  the  garden  of  the 
Pension.    They'll  come  out  to  wave  to  us.     Be  ready.' 

1  Ah,  oui,'  said  Minks,  who  had  been  studying 
phrase  books,  'je  vwa.'  But  in  reality  he  saw  with 
difficulty,  for  a  spark  had  got  into  his  eye,  and  its 
companion  optic,  wandering  as  usual,  was  suffused 
with  water  too. 

The  news  of  their  arrival  had,  of  course,  preceded 
them,  and  the  row  of  waving  figures  in  the  field  gave 
them  a  welcome  that  went  straight  to  Minks's  heart. 
He  felt  proud  for  his  grand  employer.     Here  was  a 


xxxii       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        467 

human  touch  that  would  modify  the  majesty  of  the 
impersonal  mountain  scenery  in  his  description.  He 
waved  his  handkerchief  frantically  as  the  train  shot 
past,  and  he  hardly  knew  which  attracted  him  most — 
the  expression  of  happiness  on  Mr.  Rogers's  face,  or 
the  line  of  nondescript  humanity  that  gesticulated  in 
the  field  as  though  they  wished  to  stop  the  Paris 
'  Rapide.' 

For  it  was  a  very  human  touch  ;  and  either 
Barnum's  Circus  or  the  byeways  and  hedges  of 
Fairyland  had  sent  their  picked  representatives  with 
a  dance  seen  usually  only  in  shy  moonlit  glades. 
His  master  named  them  as  the  carriage  rattled  by. 
The  Paris  Express,  of  course,  did  not  stop  at  little 
Bourcelles.  Minks  recognised  each  one  easily  from 
the  descriptions  in  the  story. 

The  Widow  Jequier,  with  garden  skirts  tucked 
high,  and  wearing  big  gauntlet  gloves,  waved  above 
her  head  a  Union  Jack  that  knocked  her  bonnet 
sideways  at  every  stroke,  and  even  enveloped  the 
black  triangle  of  a  Trilby  hat  that  her  brother-in- 
law  held  motionless  aloft  as  though  to  test  the 
wind  for  his  daily  report  upon  the  condition  of 
le  baromhre.  The  Postmaster  never  waved.  He 
looked  steadily  before  him  at  the  passing  train,  his 
small,  black  figure  more  than  usually  dwarfed  by  a 
stately  outline  that  rose  above  the  landscape  by  his 
side,  and  was  undoubtedly  the  Woman  of  the  Hay- 
stack. Telling  lines  from  the  story's  rhymes  flashed 
through  Minks's  memory  as,  chuckling  with  pleasure, 
he  watched  the  magnificent,  ample  gestures  of 
Mother's  waving  arms.  She  seemed  to  brush  aside  the 
winds  who  came  a-courting,  although  wide  strokes 
of  swimming  really  described  her  movements  best. 
A  little    farther    back,   in    the   middle    distance,  he 


468        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

recognised  by  his  peaked  cap  the  gendarme,  Gygi, 
as  he  paused  in  his  digging  and  looked  up  to  watch 
the  fun  ;  and  beyond  him  again,  solid  in  figure  as 
she  was  unchanging  in  her  affections,  he  saw  Mrs. 
Postmaster,  struggling  with  a  bed  sheet  the  -pension- 
naires  des  Glycines  helped  her  shake  in  the  evening 
breeze.  It  was  too  close  upon  the  hour  of  souper  for 
her  to  travel  farther  from  the  kitchen.  And  beside 
her  stood  Miss  Waghorn,  waving  an  umbrella.  She 
was  hatless.  Her  tall,  thin  figure,  dressed  in  black, 
against  the  washing  hung  out  to  dry,  looked  like  a 
note  of  exclamation,  or,  when  she  held  the  umbrella 
up  at  right  angles,  like  a  capital  L  the  fairies  had 
set  in  the  ground  upon  its  head. 

And  the  fairies  themselves,  the  sprites,  the 
children !  They  were  everywhere  and  anywhere. 
Jimbo  flickered,  went  out,  reappeared,  then  flickered 
again  ;  he  held  a  towel  in  one  hand  and  a  table 
napkin  in  the  other.  Monkey  seemed  more  in 
the  air  than  on  the  solid  earth,  for  one  minute  she 
was  obviously  a  ball,  and  the  next,  with  a  motion 
like  a  somersault,  her  hair  shot  loose  across  the  sun- 
light as  though  she  flew.  Both  had  their  mouths 
wide  open,  shouting,  though  the  wind  carried  their 
words  all  away  unheard.  And  Jane  Anne  stood 
apart.  Her  welcome,  if  the  gesture  is  capable  of 
being  described  at  all,  was  a  bow.  She  moved  at 
the  same  time  sedately  across  the  field,  as  though 
she  intended  to  be  seen  separately  from  the  rest. 
She  wore  hat  and  gloves.  She  was  evidently  in 
earnest  with  her  welcome.  But  Mr.  John  Henry 
Campden,  the  author  and  discoverer  of  them  all, 
Minks  did  not  see. 

4  But  I  don't  see  the  writer  himself  1 '  he  cried. 
1 1  don't  see  Mr.  Campden.' 


xxxii       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       469 

•  You  can't,'  explained  Rogers,  '  he's  standing 
behind  his  wife.' 

And  the  little  detail  pleased  the  secretary  hugely. 
The  true  artist,  he  reflected,  is  never  seen  in  his 
work. 

It  all  was  past  and  over — in  thirty  seconds.  The 
spire  of  the  church,  rising  against  a  crimson  sky,  with 
fruit  trees  in  the  foreground  and  a  line  of  distant 
summits  across  the  shining  lake,  replaced  the  row  of 
wonderful  dancing  figures.  Rogers  sank  back  in  his 
corner,  laughing,  and  Minks,  saying  nothing,  went 
across  to  his  own  at  the  other  end  of  the  compartment. 
It  all  had  been  so  swift  and  momentary  that  it  seemed 
like  the  flash  of  a  remembered  dream,  a  strip  of 
memory's  pictures,  a  vivid  picture  of  some  dazzling 
cinematograph.  Minks  felt  as  if  he  had  just  read 
the  entire  story  again  from  one  end  to  the  other — in 
thirty  seconds.  He  felt  different,  though  wherein 
exactly  the  difference  lay  was  beyond  him  to  discover. 
'  It  must  be  the  spell  of  Bourcelles,'  he  murmured  to 
himself.  '  Mr.  Rogers  warned  me  about  it.  It  is  a 
Fairyland  that  thought  has  created  out  of  common 
things.  It  is  quite  wonderful !  '  He  felt  a  glow  all 
over  him.  His  mind  ran  on  for  a  moment  to 
another  picture  his  master  had  painted  for  him,  and 
he  imagined  Albinia  and  the  family  out  here,  living 
in  a  little  house  on  the  borders  of  the  forest,  a  strip 
of  vineyards,  sunlight,  mountains,  happy  scented 
winds,  and  himself  with  a  writing-table  before  a 
window  overlooking  the  lake  .  .  .  writing  down 
Beauty. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

We  never  meet  ;  yet  we  meet  day  by  day 
Upon  those  hills  of  life,  dim  and  immense  : 
The  good  we  love,  and  sleep — our  innocence. 

O  hills  of  life,  high  hills  !     And  higher  than  they, 

Our  guardian  spirits  meet  at  prayer  and  play. 
Beyond  pain,  joy,  and  hope,  and  long  suspense, 
Above  the  summits  of  our  souls,  far  hence, 

An  angel  meets  an  angel  on  the  way. 

Beyond  all  good  I  ever  believed  of  thee 

Or  thou  of  me,  these  always  love  and  live. 
And  though  I  fail  of  thy  ideal  of  me, 

My  angel  falls  not  short.     They  greet  each  other. 

Who  knows,  they  may  exchange  the  kiss  we  give, 
Thou  to  thy  crucifix,  I  to  my  mother. 

Alice  Meynell. 

The  arrival  at  the  station  interrupted  the  reverie  in 
which  the  secretary  and  his  chief  both  were  plunged. 

'  How  odd,'  exclaimed  Minks,  ever  observant,  as 
he  leaped  from  the  carriage,  '  there  are  no  platforms. 
Everything  in  Switzerland  seems  on  one  level,  even 
the  people — everything,  that  is,  except  the  mountains.' 

*  Switzerland  is  the  mountains,'  laughed  his  chief. 

Minks  laughed  too.  '  What  delicious  air  ! '  he 
added,  filling  his  lungs  audibly.  He  felt  half 
intoxicated  with  it. 

After  some  delay  they  discovered  a  taxi-cab,  piled 
the  luggage  on  to  it,  and  were  whirled  away  towards 
a  little  cluster  of  lights  that  twinkled  beneath  the 

470 


ch.  xxxm    A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND    471 

shadows  of  La  Tourne  and  Boudry.  Bourcelles  lay 
five  miles  out. 

'  Remember,  you're  not  my  secretary  here,'  said 
Rogers  presently,  as  the  forests  sped  by  them. 
'  You're  just  a  travelling  companion.' 

1 1  understand,'  he  replied  after  a  moment's 
perplexity.     '  You  have  a  secretary  here  already.' 

1  His  name  is  Jimbo.' 

The  motor  grunted  its  way  up  the  steep  hill 
above  Colombier.  Below  them  spread  the  vines 
towards  the  lake,  sprinkled  with  lights  of  farms  and 
villages.  As  the  keen  evening  air  stole  down  from 
forest  and  mountain  to  greet  them,  the  vehicle 
turned  into  the  quiet  village  street.  Minks  saw  the 
big  humped  shoulders  of  La  Citadelle,  the  tapering 
church  spire,  the  trees  in  the  orchard  of  the  Pension. 
Cudrefin,  smoking  a  cigar  at  the  door  of  his  grocery 
shop,  recognised  them  and  waved  his  hand.  A 
moment  later  Gygi  lifted  his  peaked  hat  and  called 
'  bon  soir,  bonne  nuit,'  just  as  though  Rogers  had 
never  gone  away  at  all.  Michaud,  the  carpenter, 
shouted  his  welcome  as  he  strolled  towards  the  Post 
Office  farther  down  to  post  a  letter,  and  then  the 
motor  stopped  with  a  jerk  outside  the  courtyard 
where  the  fountain  sang  and  gurgled  in  its  big  stone 
basin.  Minks  saw  the  plane  tree.  He  glanced  up 
at  the  ridged  backbone  of  the  building.  What  a 
portentous  looking  erection  it  was.  It  seemed  to 
have  no  windows.  He  wondered  where  the  famous 
Den  was.  The  roof  overlapped  like  a  giant  hood, 
casting  a  deep  shadow  upon  the  cobbled  yard. 
Overhead  the  stars  shone  faintly. 

Instantly  a  troop  of  figures  shot  from  the  shadow 
and  surrounded  them.  There  was  a  babel  of  laughter, 
exclamations,  questions.      Minks  thought  the  stars 


472        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

had  fallen.  Children  and  constellations  were  mingled 
all  together,  it  seemed.  Both  were  too  numerous  to 
count.  All  were  rushing  with  the  sun  towards 
Hercules  at  a  dizzy  speed. 

'  And  this  is  my  friend,  Mr.  Minks,'  he  heard 
repeated  from  time  to  time,  feeling  his  hand  seized 
and  shaken  before  he  knew  what  he  was  about. 
Mother  loomed  up  and  gave  him  a  stately  welcome 
too. 

'  He  wears  gloves  in  Bourcelles !  '  some  one 
observed  audibly  to  some  one  else. 

'  Excuse  me  !  This  is  Riquette  !  '  announced  a 
big  girl,  hatless  like  the  rest,  with  shining  eyes.  *  It's 
a  she.' 

'  And  this  is  my  secretary,  Mr.  Jimbo,'  said 
Rogers,  breathlessly,  emerging  from  a  struggling 
mass.     Minks  and  Jimbo  shook  hands  with  dignity. 

*  Your  room  is  over  at  the  Michauds,  as  before.' 

1  And  Mr.  Mix  is  at  the  Pension — there  was  no 
other  room  to  be  had ' 

'  Supper's  at  seven ' 

'  Tante  Jeanne's  been  grand-deling  all  day  with 
excitement.     She'll  burst  when  she  sees  you  ! ' 

'  She's  read  the  story,  too.  Elle  dit  que  c'est  le 
bouquet  ! ' 

'  There's  new  furniture  in  the  salon,  and  they've 
cleaned  the  sink  while  you've  been  away  !   .  .   .' 

The  author  moved  forward  out  of  the  crowd.  At 
the  same  moment  another  figure,  slight  and  shadowy, 
revealed  itself,  outlined  against  the  white  of  the 
gleaming  street.  It  had  been  hidden  in  the  tangle 
of  the  stars.      It  kept  so  quiet. 

'  Countess,  may  I  introduce  him  to  you,'  he  said, 
seizing  the  momentary  pause.  There  was  little 
ceremony  in  Bourcelles.     *  This  is  my  cousin  I  told 


xxxin      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        473 

you  about — Mr.  Henry  Rogers.  You  must  know 
one  another  at  once.     He's  Orion  in  the  story.' 

He  dragged  up  his  big  friend,  who  seemed 
suddenly  awkward,  difficult  to  move.  The  children 
ran  in  and  out  between  them  like  playing  puppies, 
tumbling  against  each  in  turn. 

'  They  don't  know  which  is  which,'  observed 
Jinny,  watching  the  introduction.  Her  voice  ran 
past  him  like  the  whir  of  a  shooting  star  through 
space — far,  far  away.  '  Excuse  me  ! '  she  cried,  as 
she  cannoned  off  Monkey  against  Cousinenry.  '  I'm 
not  a  terminus  !     This  is  a  regular  shipwreck  !  ' 

The  three  elder  ones  drew  aside  a  little  from  the 
confusion. 

'  The  Countess,'  resumed  Daddy,  as  soon  as  they 
were  safe  from  immediate  destruction,  '  has  come  all 
the  way  from  Austria  to  see  us.  She  is  staying  with 
us  for  a  few  days.  Isn't  it  delightful  ?  We  call  her 
the  little  Grafin.'  His  voice  wumbled  a  trifle  thickly 
in  his  beard.  '  She  was  good  enough  to  like  the  story 
— our  story,  you  know — and  wrote  to  me ' 

'  My  story,'  said  a  silvery,  laughing  voice. 

And  Rogers  bowed  politely,  and  with  a  moment's 
dizziness,  at  two  bright  smiling  eyes  that  watched  him 
out  of  the  little  shadow  standing  between  him  and 
the  children.      He  was  aware  of  grandeur. 

He  stood  there,  first  startled,  then  dazed.  She 
was  so  small.  But  something  about  her  was  so 
enormous.  His  inner  universe  turned  over  and 
showed  its  under  side.  The  hidden  thing  that  so 
long  had  brushed  his  daily  life  came  up  utterly 
close  and  took  him  in  its  gigantic  arms.  He  stared 
like  an  unmannered  child. 

Something  had  lit  the  world.   .  .  . 

i  This  is  delicious  air,'  he  heard  Minks  saying  to 


474        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

his  cousin  in  the  distance, — to  his  deaf  side  judging 
by  the  answer  : 

'  Delicious  here — yes,  isn't  it  ?  ' 

Something  had  lit  the  stars.   .  .  . 

Minks  and  his  cousin  continued  idly  talking.  Their 
voices  twittered  like  birds  in  empty  space.  The 
children  had  scattered  like  marbles  from  a  spinning- 
top.  Their  voices  and  footsteps  sounded  in  the 
cobbled  yard  of  La  Citadelle,  as  they  scampered  up  to 
prepare  for  supper.  Mother  sailed  solemnly  after 
them,  more  like  a  frigate  than  ever.  The  world,  on 
fire,  turned  like  a  monstrous  Catherine  wheel  within 
his  brain. 

Something  had  lit  the  universe.   .   .  . 

He  stood  there  in  the  dusk  beneath  the  peeping 
stars,  facing  the  slender  little  shadow.  It  was  all  he 
saw  at  first — this  tiny  figure.  Demure  and  soft,  it 
remained  motionless  before  him,  a  hint  of  childhood's 
wonder  in  its  graceful  attitude.  He  was  aware  of 
something  mischievous  as  well  —  that  laughed  at 
him.  .  .  .  He  realised  then  that  she  waited  for 
him  to  speak.  Yet,  for  the  life  of  him,  he  could 
find  no  words,  because  the  eyes,  beneath  the  big- 
brimmed  hat  with  its  fluttering  veil,  looked  out  at 
him  as  though  some  formidable  wild  creature 
watched  him  from  the  opening  of  its  cave.  There 
was  a  glint  of  amber  in  them.  The  heart  in 
him  went  thumping.  He  caught  his  breath.  Out 
jerked,  then,  certain  words  that  he  tried  hard  to  make 
ordinary 

'  But  surely — we  have  met  before — I  think  I  know 

you ' 

He  just  said  it,  swallowing  his  breath  with  a  gulp 
upon  the  unfinished  sentence.  But  he  said  it — 
somewhere  else,  and  not  here  in  the  twilight  street 


xxxm      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       475 

of  little  Bourcelles.  For  his  sight  swam  somehow 
far  away,  and  he  was  giddy  with  the  height.  The 
roofs  of  the  houses  lay  in  a  sea  of  shadow  below  him, 
and  the  street  wound  through  them  like  a  ribbon  of 
thin  lace.  The  tree-tops  waved  very  softly  in  a 
wind  that  purred  and  sighed  beneath  his  feet,  and 
this  wind  was  a  violet  little  wind,  that  bent  them  all 
one  way  and  set  the  lines  and  threads  of  gold 
a-quiver  to  their  fastenings.  For  the  fastenings  were 
not  secure  ;  any  minute  he  might  fall.  And  the 
threads,  he  saw,  all  issued  like  rays  from  two  central 
shining  points  of  delicate,  transparent  amber,  radiating 
forth  into  an  exquisite  design  that  caught  the  stars. 
Yet  the  stars  were  not  reflected  in  them.  It  was 
they  who  lit  the  stars.   .   .   . 

He  was  dizzy.     He  tried  speech  again. 

1 1  told  you  I  should '     But  it  was  not  said 

aloud  apparently. 

Two  little  twinkling  feet  were  folded.  Two 
hands,  he  saw,  stretched  down  to  draw  him  close. 
These  very  stars  ran  loose  about  him  in  a  cloud  of 
fiery  sand.  Their  pattern  danced  in  flame.  He 
picked  out  Sirius,  Aldebaran — the  Pleiades  !  There 
was  tumult  in  his  blood,  a  wild  and  exquisite  con- 
fusion. What  in  the  world  had  happened  to  him 
that  he  should  behave  in  this  ridiculous  fashion  ? 
Yet  he  was  doing  nothing.  It  was  only  that,  for  a 
passing  instant,  the  enormous  thing  his  life  had  been 
dimly  conscious  of  so  long,  rose  at  last  from  its 
subterranean  hiding-place  and  overwhelmed  him. 
This  picture  that  came  with  it  was  like  some 
far-off  dream  he  suddenly  recovered.  A  glorious 
excitement  caught  him.      He  felt  utterly  bewildered. 

'  Have  we  ? '  he  heard  close  in  front  of  him.  '  I 
do  not  think  I  have  had  the  pleasure ' — it  was  with 


476        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

a  slightly  foreign  accent — '  but  it  is  so  dim  here,  and 
one  cannot  see  very  well,  perhaps.' 

And  a  ripple  of  laughter  passed  round  some 
gigantic  whispering  gallery  in  the  sky.  It  set  the 
trellis- work  of  golden  threads  all  trembling.  He 
felt  himself  perched  dizzily  in  this  shaking  web  that 
swung  through  space.  And  with  him  was  some  one 
whom  he  knew.   .  .  .   He  heard  the  words  of  a  song: 

'  Light  desire 
With  their  fire.' 

Something  had  lit  his  heart.   .  .  . 

He  lost  himself  again,  disgracefully.  A  mist 
obscured  his  sight,  though  with  the  eyes  of  his  mind 
he  still  saw  crystal -clear.  Across  this  mist  fled 
droves  and  droves  of  stars.  They  carried  him  out 
of  himself — out,  out,  out !  .  .  .  His  upper  mind  then 
made  a  vehement  effort  to  recover  equilibrium.  An 
idea  was  in  him  that  some  one  would  presently  turn 
a  somersault  and  disappear.  The  effort  had  a  result, 
it  seemed,  for  the  enormous  thing  passed  slowly  away 
again  into  the  caverns  of  his  under-self,  .  .  .  and  he 
realised  that  he  was  conducting  himself  in  a  foolish 
and  irresponsible  manner,  which  Minks,  in  particular, 
would  disapprove.  He  was  staring  rudely — at  a 
shadow,  or  rather,  at  two  eyes  in  a  shadow.  With 
another  effort — oh,  how  it  hurt ! — he  focused  sight 
again  upon  surface  things.  It  seemed  his  turn  to 
say  something. 

'  I  beg  your  pardon,'  he  stammered,  '  but  T 
thought — it  seemed  to  me  for  a  moment — that  I — 
remembered.' 

The  face  came  close  as  he  said  it.  He  saw  it 
clear  a  moment.  The  figure  grew  defined  against 
the  big  stone  fountain — the  little  hands  in  summer 


xxxm     A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       477 

cotton  gloves,  the  eyes  beneath  the  big  brimmed  hat, 
the  streaming  veil.  Then  he  went  lost  again — more 
gloriously  than  before.  Instead  of  the  human  outline 
in  the  dusky  street  of  Bourcelles,  he  stared  at  the  host 
of  stars,  at  the  shimmering  design  of  gold,  at  the 
Pleiades,  whose  fingers  of  spun  lustre  swung  the  Net 
loose  across  the  world.  .  .  . 

'Flung  from  huge  Orion's  hand  .  .  .' 

he  caught  in  a  golden  whisper, 

'  Sweetly  linking 
All  our  thinking.  .  .  .' 

His  cousin  and  Minks,  he  was  aware  vaguely,  had 
left  him.  He  was  alone  with  her.  A  little  way 
down  the  hill  they  turned  and  called  to  him.  He 
made  a  frantic  effort — there  seemed  just  time — to 
plunge  away  into  space  and  seize  the  cluster  of 
lovely  stars  with  both  his  hands.  Headlong,  he 
dived  off  recklessly  .  .  .  driving  at  a  fearful  speed, 
.  .  .  when — the  whole  thing  vanished  into  a  gulf  of 
empty  blue,  and  he  found  himself  running,  not 
through  the  sky  to  clutch  the  Pleiades,  but  heavily 
downhill  towards  his  cousin  and  Minks. 

It  was  a  most  abrupt  departure.  There  was  a 
curious  choking  in  his  throat.  His  heart  ran  all 
over  his  body.  Something  white  and  sparkling 
danced  madly  through  his  brain.  What  must  she 
think  of  him  ? 

'  We've  just  time  to  wash  ourselves  and  hurry 
over  to  supper,'  his  cousin  said,  as  he  overtook  them, 
flustered  and  very  breathless.  Minks  looked  at  him 
— regarded  him,  rather — astonishment,  almost  dis- 
approval, in  one  eye,  and  in  the  other,  apparently 
observing  the  vineyards,  a  mild  rebuke. 


473        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

He  walked  beside  them  in  a  dream.  The  sound 
of  Colombier's  bells  across  Planeyse,  men's  voices 
singing  fragments  of  a  Dalcroze  song  floated  to 
him,  and  with  them  all  the  dear  familiar  smells  : — 

Le  coeur  de  ma  mie 

Est  petit,  tout  petit  petit, 

J 'en  ai  Tame  ravie.  .  .  . 

It  was  Minks,  drawing  the  keen  air  noisily  into 
his  lungs  in  great  draughts,  who  recalled  him  to 
himself. 

'  I  could  find  my  way  here  without  a  guide,  Mr. 
Campden,'  he  was  saying  diffidently,  burning  to  tell 
how  the  Story  had  moved  him.  '  It's  all  so  vivid,  I 
can  almost  see  the  Net.  I  feel  in  it,'  and  he  waved 
one  hand  towards  the  sky. 

The  other  thanked  him  modestly.  '  That's  your 
power  of  visualising  then,'  he  added.  *  My  idea  was, 
of  course,  that  every  mind  in  the  world  is  related 
with  every  other  mind,  and  that  there's  no  escape — 
we  are  all  prisoners.     The  responsibility  is  vast.' 

'  Perfectly.  I've  always  believed  it.  Ah  !  if  only 
one  could  live  it ! ' 

Rogers  heard  this  clearly.  But  it  seemed  that  an- 
other heard  it  with  him.  Some  one  very  close  beside 
him  shared  the  hearing.  He  had  recovered  from  his 
temporary  shock.  Only  the  wonder  remained.  Life 
was  sheer  dazzling  glory.  The  talk  continued  as 
they  hurried  along  the  road  together.  Rogers  became 
aware  then  that  his  cousin  was  giving  information — 
meant  for  himself. 

'  .  .  .  A  most  charming  little  lady,  indeed.  She 
comes  from  over  there,'  and  he  pointed  to  where 
the  Pleiades  were  climbing  the  sky  towards  the  East, 
'  in   Austria   somewhere.      She   owns   a    big    estate 


xxxm      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        479 

among  the  mountains.  She  wrote  to  me — I've  had 
such  encouraging  letters,  you  know,  from  all  sorts  of 
folk — and  when  I  replied,  she  telegraphed  to  ask  if 
she  might  come  and  see  me.  She  seems  fond  of 
telegraphing,  rather.'  And  he  laughed  as  though  he 
were  speaking  of  an  ordinary  acquaintance. 

'  Charming  little  lady  !  '  The  phrase  was  like  the 
flick  of  a  lash.  Rogers  had  known  it  applied  to  such 
commonplace  women. 

'  A  most  intelligent  face,'  he  heard  Minks  saying, 
'  quite  beautiful,  /  thought — the  beauty  of  mind  and 
soul.' 

'  .  .  .  Mother  and  the  children  took  to  her  at 
once,'  his  cousin's  voice  went  on.  '  She  and  her  maid 
have  got  rooms  over  at  the  Beguins.  And,  do  you 
know,  a  most  singular  coincidence,'  he  added  with 
some  excitement,  '  she  tells  me  that  ever  since  child- 
hood she's  had  an  idea  like  this — like  the  story,  I 
mean — an  idea  of  her  own  she  always  wanted  to 
write  but  couldn't ' 

'  Of  course,  of  course,'  interrupted  Rogers  im- 
patiently ;  and  then  he  added  quickly,  '  but  how  very 
extraordinary  !  ' 

'  The  idea  that  Thought  makes  a  network  every- 
where about  the  world  in  which  we  all  are  caught, 
and  that  it's  a  positive  duty,  therefore,  to  think 
beauty — as  much  a  duty  as  washing  one's  face  and 
hands,  because  what  you  think  touches  others  all  day 
long,  and  all  night  long  too — in  sleep.' 

'  Only  she  couldn't  write  it  ? '  asked  Rogers.  His 
tongue  was  like  a  thick  wedge  of  unmanageable  wood 
in  his  mouth.  He  felt  like  a  man  who  hears  another 
spoil  an  old,  old  beautiful  story  that  he  knows  him- 
self with  intimate  accuracy. 

1  She  can  telegraph,  she  says,  but  she  can't  write  !  ' 


480       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

'  An  expensive  talent,'  thought  the  practical 
Minks. 

'  Oh,  she's  very  rich,  apparently.  But  isn't  it 
odd  ?  You  see,  she  thought  it  vividly,  played  it, 
lived  it.  Why,  she  tells  me  she  even  had  a  Cave  in 
her  mountains  where  lost  thoughts  and  lost  star- 
light collected,  and  that  she  made  a  kind  of  Pattern 
with  them  to  represent  the  Net.  She  showed  me  a 
drawing  of  it,  for  though  she  can't  write,  she  paints 
quite  well.  But  the  odd  thing  is  that  she  claims  to 
have  thought  out  the  main  idea  of  my  own  story 
years  and  years  ago  with  the  feeling  that  some  day 
her  idea  was  bound  to  reach  some  one  who  would 
write  it ' 

'Almost  a  case  of  transference,'  put  in  Minks. 

*  A  fairy  tale,  yes,  isn't  it ! ' 

*  Married  ? '  asked  Rogers,  with  a  gulp,  as  they 
reached  the  door.  But  apparently  he  had  not  said  it 
out  loud,  for  there  was  no  reply. 

He  tried  again  less  abruptly.  It  required  almost 
a  physical  effort  to  drive  his  tongue  and  frame  the 
tremendous  question. 

'  What  a  fairy  story  for  her  children  !  How  they 
must  love  it !  '  This  time  he  spoke  so  loud  that 
Minks  started  and  looked  up  at  him. 

'  Ah,  but  she  has  no  children,'  his  cousin  said. 

They  went  upstairs,  and  the  introductions  to 
Monsieur  and  Madame  Michaud  began,  with  talk 
about  rooms  and  luggage.  The  mist  was  over  him 
once  more.     He  heard  Minks  saying  : — 

4  Oui,  je  comprongs  un  poo,'  and  the  clatter  of 
heavy  boots  up  and  down  the  stairs,  .  .  .  and  then 
found  himself  washing  his  hands  in  stinging  hot 
water  in  his  cousin's  room. 

'  The  children  simply  adore  her  already,'  he  heard, 


xxxm      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        481 

1  and  she  won  Mother's  confidence  at  the  very  start. 
They  can't  manage  her  long  name.  They  just  call 
her  the  Little  Countess — die  kleine  Grdfin.  She's 
doing  a  most  astonishing  work  in  Austria,  it  seems, 
with  children  .  .  .  the  Montessori  method,  and  all 
that.  .  .  .' 

'  By  George,  now  ;  is  it  possible  ?  Bourcelles 
accepted  her  at  once  then  ? ' 

■  She  accepted  Bourcelles  rather — took  it  bodily 
into  herself — our  poverty,  our  magic  boxes,  our 
democratic  intimacy,  and  all  the  rest ;  it  was  just  as 
though  she  had  lived  here  with  us  always.  And  she 
kept  asking  who  Orion  was — that's  you,  of  course — 
and  why  you  weren't  here ' 

1  And  the  Den  too  ? '  asked  Rogers,  with  a  sudden 
trembling  in  his  heart,  yet  knowing  well  the  answer. 

*  Simply  appropriated  it — came  in  naturally  without 
being  asked  ;  Jimbo  opened  the  door  and  Monkey 
pushed  her  in.  She  said  it  was  her  Star  Cave.  Oh, 
she's  a  remarkable  being,  you  know,  rather,'  he 
went  on  more  gravely,  'with  unusual  powers  of 
sympathy.  She  seems  to  feel  at  once  what  you 
are  feeling.  Takes  everything  for  granted  as  though 
she  knew.  I  think  she  does  know,  if  you  ask 
me ' 

'  Lives  the  story  in  fact,'  the  other  interrupted, 
hiding  his  face  rather  in  the  towel,  '  lives  her  belief 
instead  of  dreaming  it,  eh  ?  ' 

1  And,  fancy  this  ! '  His  voice  had  a  glow  and 
softness  in  it  as  he  said  it,  coming  closer,  and  almost 
whispering,  '  she  wants  to  take  Jinny  and  Monkey 
for  a  bit  and  educate  them. '  He  stood  away  to  watch 
the  effect  of  the  announcement.  '  She  even  talks  of 
sending  Edward  to  Oxford,  too  ! '  He  cut  a  kind  of 
wumbled  caper  in  his  pleasure  and  excitement. 

2  1 


482        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

•  She  loves  children  then,  evidently  ? '  asked  the 
other,  with  a  coolness  that  was  calculated  to  hide  other 
feelings.  He  rubbed  his  face  in  the  rough  towel  as 
though  the  skin  must  come  off.  Then,  suddenly 
dropping  the  towel,  he  looked  into  his  cousin's  eyes 
a  moment  to  ensure  a  proper  answer. 

*  Longs  for  children  of  her  own,  I  think,'  replied 
the  author  ;  '  one  sees  it,  feels  it  in  all  she  says  and 
does.  Rather  sad,  you  know,  that  !  An  unmarried 
mother ' 

'  In  fact,'  put  in  Rogers  lightly,  '  the  very  character 
you  needed  to  play  the  principal  role  in  your  story. 
When  you  write  the  longer  version  in  book  form 
you'll  have  to  put  her  in.' 

'  And  find  her  a  husband  too — which  is  a  bore. 
I  never  write  love  stories,  you  see.  She's  finer  as  she 
is  at  present — mothering  the  world.' 

Rogers's  face,  as  he  brushed  his  hair  carefully 
before  the  twisted  mirror,  was  not  visible. 

There  came  a  timid  knock  at  the  door. 

'  I'm  ready,  gentlemen,  when  you  are,'  answered 
the  voice  of  Minks  outside. 

They  went  downstairs  together,  and  walked  quickly 
over  to  the  Pension  for  supper.  Rogers  moved 
sedately  enough  so  far  as  the  others  saw,  yet  inwardly 
he  pranced  like  a  fiery  colt  in  harness.  There  were 
golden  reins  about  his  neck.  Two  tiny  hands 
directed  him  from  the  Pleiades.  In  this  leash  of 
sidereal  fire  he  felt  as  though  he  flew.  Swift  thought, 
flashing  like  a  fairy  whip,  cut  through  the  air  from 
an  immense  distance,  and  urged  him  forwards.  Some 
one  expected  him  and  he  was  late — years  and  years 
late.  Goodness,  how  his  companions  crawled  and 
dawdled  ! 

* .  .  .  she  doesn't  come  over  for  her  meals,'  he 


xxxn.      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        483 

heard,  '  but  she'll  join  us  afterwards  at  the  Den. 
You'll  come  too,  won't  you,  Mr.  Minks  ? ' 

'  Thank  you,  I  shall  be  most  happy — if  I'm  not 
intruding,'  was  the  reply  as  they  passed  the  fountain 
near  the  courtyard  of  the  Citadelle.  The  musical 
gurgle  of  its  splashing  water  sounded  to  Rogers  like 
a  voice  that  sang  over  and  over  again,  '  Come  up, 
come  up,  come  up !     You  must  come  up  to  me  1 ' 

c  How  brilliant  vour  stars  are  out  here,  Mr. 
Campden,'  Minks  was  saying  when  they  reached  the 
door  of  La  Poste.  He  stood  aside  to  let  the  others 
pass  before  him.  He  held  the  door  open  politely. 
*  No  wonder  you  chose  them  as  the  symbol  for 
thought  and  sympathy  in  your  story.'  And  they 
climbed  the  narrow,  creaking  stairs  and  entered  the 
little  hall  where  the  entire  population  of  the  Pension 
des  Glycines  awaited  them  with  impatience. 

The  meal  dragged  out  interminably.  Everybody 
had  so  much  to  say.  Minks,  placed  between  Mother 
and  Miss  Waghorn,  talked  volubly  to  the  latter  and 
listened  sweetly  to  all  her  stories.  The  excitement 
of  the  Big  Story,  however,  was  in  the  air,  and  when 
she  mentioned  that  she  looked  forward  to  reading  it, 
he  had  no  idea,  of  course,  that  she  had  already  done 
so  at  least  three  times.  The  Review  had  replaced 
her  customary  Novel.  She  went  about  with  it 
beneath  her  arm.  Minks,  feeling  friendly  and  con- 
fidential, informed  her  that  he,  too,  sometimes  wrote, 
and  when  she  noted  the  fact  with  a  deferential  phrase 
about  '  you  men  of  letters,'  he  rose  abruptly  to  the 
seventh  heaven  of  contentment.  Mother  mean- 
while, on  the  other  side,  took  him  bodily  into  her 
great  wumbled  heart.  '  Poor  little  chap,'  her  attitude 
said  plainly,  '  I  don't  believe  his  wife  half  looks  after 
him.'     Before  the  end  of  supper  she  knew  all  about 


484        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

Frank  and  Ronald,  the  laburnum  tree  in  the  front 
garden,  what  tea  they  bought,  and  Albinia's  plan  for 
making  coal  last  longer  by  mixing  it  with  coke. 

Tante  Jeanne  talked  furiously  and  incessantly, 
her  sister-in-law  told  her  latest  dream,  and  the  Post- 
master occasionally  cracked  a  solemn  joke,  laughing 
uproariously  long  before  the  point  appeared.  It  was 
a  merry,  noisy  meal,  and  Henry  Rogers  sat  through 
it  upon  a  throne  that  was  slung  with  golden  ropes 
from  the  stars.  He  was  in  Fairyland  again.  Outside, 
the  Pleiades  were  rising  in  the  sky,  and  somewhere 
in  Bourcelles — in  the  rooms  above  Beguin's  shop,  to 
be  exact — some  one  was  waiting,  ready  to  come  over 
to  the  Den.  His  thoughts  flew  wildly.  Passionate 
longing  drove  behind  them.  '  You  must  come  up 
to  me,'  he  heard.     They  all  were  Kings  and  Queens. 

He  played  his  part,  however  ;  no  one  seemed  to 
notice  his  preoccupation.  The  voices  sounded  now 
far,  now  near,  as  though  some  wind  made  sport  with 
them  ;  the  faces  round  him  vanished  and  reappeared  ; 
but  he  contrived  cleverly,  so  that  none  remarked 
upon  his  absent-mindedness.  Constellations  do  not 
stare  at  one  another  much. 

1  Does  your  Mother  know  you're  "  out  "  ? '  asked 
Monkey  once  beside  him — it  was  the  great  joke  now, 
since  the  Story  had  been  read — and  as  soon  as  she 
was  temporarily  disposed  of,  Jimbo  had  serious  in- 
formation to  impart  from  the  other  side.  '  She's  a 
real  Countess,'  he  said,  speaking  as  man  to  man. 
'  I  suppose  if  she  went  to  London  she'd  know  the 
King — visit  him,  like  that  ? ' 

Bless  his  little  heart  !  Jimbo  always  knew  the 
important  things  to  talk  about. 

There  were  bursts  of  laughter  sometimes,  due 
usually  to  statements  made  abruptly  by  Jane  Anne — 


xxxm      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        485 

as  when  Mother,  discussing  the  garden  with  Minks, 
reviled  the  mischievous  birds  : — 

'  They  want  thinning  badly,'  she  said. 

'  Why  don't  they  take  more  exercise,  then  ? ' 
inquired  Jinny  gravely. 

And  in  these  gusts  of  laughter  Rogers  joined 
heartily,  as  though  he  knew  exactly  what  the  fun 
was  all  about.  In  this  way  he  deceived  everybody 
and  protected  himself  from  discovery.  And  yet  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  shouted  his  secret  aloud,  not 
with  his  lips  indeed,  but  with  his  entire  person. 
Surely  everybody  knew  it  ...  !  He  was  self- 
conscious  as  a  schoolgirl. 

'  You  must  come  up — to  me,'  rang  continuously 
through  his  head  like  bells.  '  You  must  come  up  to 
me.' 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

How  many  times  do  I  love  thee,  dear? 
Tell  me  how  many  thoughts  there  be 
In  the  atmosphere 
Of  a  new  fall'n  year, 
Whose  white  and  sable  hours  appear 

The  latest  flake  of  Eternity  : — 
So  many  times  do  I  love  thee,  dear. 

How  many  times  do  I  love  again? 
Tell  me  how  many  beads  there  are 
In  a  silver  chain 
Of  evening  rain, 
Unravelled  from  the  tumbling  main, 

And  threading  the  eye  of  a  yellow  star  : — 
So  many  time3  do  I  love  again. 

Thomas  Lovell  Beddoes. 

A  curious  deep  shyness  settled  upon  Henry  Rogers 
as  they  all  trooped  over  to  the  Den.  The  others 
gabbled  noisily,  but  to  him  words  came  with  diffi- 
culty. He  felt  like  a  boy  going  up  for  some  great 
test,  examination,  almost  for  judgment.  There  was 
an  idea  in  him  that  he  must  run  and  hide  somewhere. 
He  saw  the  huge  outline  of  Orion  tilting  up  above 
the  Alps,  slanting  with  the  speed  of  his  eternal  hunt 
to  seize  the  Pleiades  who  sailed  ever  calmly  just 
beyond  his  giant  arms.  Yet  what  that  old  Hunter 
sought  was  at  last  within  his  reach.  He  knew  it, 
and  felt  the  awe  of  capture  rise  upon  him. 

'  You've  eaten  so  much  supper  you  can't  speak,' 
said  Monkey,  whose  hand  was  in  his  coat-pocket  for 
loose   chicken-feed,   as   she   called  centimes.      4  The 

486 


ch.  xxxiv    A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND      487 

Little  Countess  will  regler  ton  affaire  all  right.  Just 
wait  till  she  gets  at  you.' 

'You  love  her?'  he  asked  gently,  feeling  little 
disposed  to  play. 

The  child's  reply  was  cryptic,  yet  uncommonly 
revealing  : — 

'She's  just  like  a  relation.  It's  so  funny  she 
didn't  know  us  long,  long  ago — find  us  out,  I 
mean.' 

'  Mother  likes  her  awfully,'  added  Jimbo,  as 
though  that  established  the  matter  of  her  charm  for 
ever.  '  It's  a  pity  she's  not  a  man ' — just  to  show 
that  Cousinenry's  position  was  not  endangered. 

They  chattered  on.  Rogers  hardly  remembers 
how  he  climbed  the  long  stone  steps.  He  found 
himself  in  the  Den.  It  came  about  with  a  sudden 
jump  as  in  dreams.  She  was  among  them  before 
the  courtyard  was  crossed  ;  she  had  gone  up  the 
steps  immediately  in  front  of  him.  .  .  .  Jinny  was 
bringing  in  the  lamp,  while  Daddy  struggled  with  a 
load  of  peat  for  the  fire,  getting  in  everybody's  way. 
Riquette  stood  silhouetted  against  the  sky  upon  the 
window  sill.  Jimbo  used  the  bellows.  A  glow 
spread  softly  through  the  room.  He  caught  sight 
of  Minks  standing  rather  helplessly  beside  the  sofa 
talking  to  Jane  Anne,  and  picking  at  his  ear  as  he 
always  did  when  nervous  or  slightly  ill  at  ease.  He 
wondered  vaguely  what  she  was  saying  to  him. 
He  looked  everywhere  but  at  the  one  person  for 
whose  comfort  the  others  were  so  energetic. 

His  eyes  did  not  once  turn  in  her  direction,  yet 
he  knew  exactly  how  she  was  dressed,  what  move- 
ments she  made,  where  she  stood,  the  very  words, 
indeed,  she  used,  and  in  particular  the  expression  of 
her  face   to  each  in  turn.     For  he  was  guilty  of  a 


488        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap 

searching  inner  scrutiny  he  could  not  control.  And, 
above  all,  he  was  aware,  with  a  divine,  tumultuous 
thrill,  that  she,  for  her  part,  also  neither  looked  at 
him  nor  uttered  one  sentence  that  he  could  take  as 
intended  for  himself. 

Because,  of  course,  all  she  said  and  did  and 
looked  were  meant  for  him,  and  her  scrutiny  was 
even  closer  and  more  searching  than  his  own. 

In  the  Den  that  evening  there  was  one  world 
within  another,  though  only  these  two,  and  probably 
the  intuitive  and  diabolically  observant  Minks,  per- 
ceived it.  The  deep  furnaces  of  this  man's  inner 
being,  banked  now  so  long  that  mere  little  flames 
had  forgotten  their  way  out,  lay  open  at  last  to  that 
mighty  draught  before  whose  fusing  power  the 
molten,  fluid  state  becomes  inevitable. 

1  You  must  come  up  to  me '  rang  on  in  his  head 
like  a  chime  of  bells.  '  O  think  Beauty  :  it's  your 
duty.  .  .   .' 

The  chairs  were  already  round  the  open  fire- 
place, when  Monkey  pushed  him  into  the  big  one 
with  the  broken  springs  he  always  used,  and  estab- 
lished herself  upon  his  knee.  Jimbo  was  on  the 
other  in  a  twinkling.  Jane  Anne  plumped  down 
upon  the  floor  against  him.  Her  hair  was  up,  and 
grown-ups  might  sit  as  they  pleased.  Minks  in  a 
hard,  straight-backed  chair,  firmly  assured  every- 
body that  he  was  exceedingly  comfortable  and  really 
preferred  stiff  chairs.  He  found  safety  next  to 
Mother  who,  pleased  and  contented,  filled  one 
corner  of  the  sofa  and  looked  as  though  she 
occupied  a  pedestal.  Beyond  her  perched  Daddy, 
on  the  music  stool,  leaning  his  back  against  the  un- 
Wghtcd  fourneau.  The  Wumble  Book  was  balanced 
on  his  knees,  and  beside  him  sat  the  little  figure  of  the 


xxxiv      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       489 

visitor  who,  though  at  the  end,  was  yet  somehow 
the  true  centre  of  the  circle.  Rogers  saw  her  slip 
into  her  unimportant  place.  She  took  her  seat,  he 
thought,  as  softly  as  a  mouse.  For  no  one  seemed 
to  notice  her.  She  was  so  perfectly  at  home  among 
them.  In  her  little  folded  hands  the  Den  and  all 
its  occupants  seemed  cared  for  beyond  the  need  of 
words  or  definite  action.  And,  although  her  place 
was  the  furthest  possible  remove  from  his  own,  he 
felt  her  closer  to  him  than  the  very  children  who 
nestled  upon  his  knees. 

Riquette  then  finally,  when  all  were  settled,  stole 
in  to  complete  the  circle.  She  planted  herself  in  the 
middle  of  the  hearth  before  them  all,  looked  up  into 
their  faces,  decided  that  all  was  well,  and  began 
placidly  to  wash  her  face  and  back.  A  leg  shot  up, 
from  the  middle  of  her  back  apparently,  as  a  signal 
that  they  might  talk.  A  moment  later  she  composed 
herself  into  that  attitude  of  dignified  security  possible 
only  to  the  feline  species.  She  made  the  fourth  that 
inhabited  this  world  within  a  world.  Rogers, 
glancing  up  suddenly  from  observing  her,  caught — 
for  the  merest  fraction  of  an  instant — a  flash  of  star- 
fire  in  the  air.  It  darted  across  to  him  from  the 
opposite  end  of  the  horse-shoe.  Behind  it  flickered 
the  tiniest  smile  a  human  countenance  could  possibly 
produce. 

'Little  mouse  who,  lost  in  wonder, 
Flicks  its  whiskers  at  the  thunder.' 

It  was  Jane  Anne  repeating  the  rhyme  for  Minks's 
benefit.  How  appropriately  it  came  in,  he  thought. 
And  voices  were  set  instantly  in  motion  ;  it  seemed 
that  every  one  began  to  speak  at  once. 

Who  finally  led  the  conversation,  or  what  was 
actually  said  at  first,  he  has  no  more  recollection  than 


490        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

the  man  in  the  moon,  for  he  only  heard  the  silvery 
music  of  a  single  voice.  And  that  came  rarely. 
He  felt  washed  in  glory  from  head  to  foot.  In 
a  dream  of  happy  starlight  he  swam  and  floated. 
He  hid  his  face  behind  the  chair  of  Monkey,  and  his 
eyes  were  screened  below  the  welcome  shelter  of 
Jimbo's  shoulder. 

The  talk  meanwhile  flowed  round  the  horse-shoe 
like  a  river  that  curves  downhill.  Life  ran  past  him, 
while  he  stood  on  the  banks  and  watched.  He  re- 
constructed all  that  happened,  all  that  was  said  and 
done,  each  little  movement,  every  little  glance  of  the 
eye.  These  common  things  he  recreated.  For, 
while  his  body  sat  in  the  Den  before  a  fire  of  peat, 
with  children,  a  cat,  a  private  secretary,  three  very 
ordinary  people  and  a  little  foreign  visitor,  his 
spirit  floated  high  above  the  world  among  the  im- 
mensities of  suns  and  starfields.  He  was  in  the  Den, 
but  the  Den  was  in  the  universe,  and  to  the  scale 
of  the  universe  he  set  the  little  homely,  common- 
place picture.  Life,  he  realised,  is  thought  and 
feeling  ;  and  just  then  he  thought  and  felt  like  a 
god.  He  was  Orion,  and  Orion  had  at  last  over- 
taken the  Pleiades.  The  fairest  of  the  cluster  lay 
caught  within  his  giant  arms.  The  Enormous  Thing 
that  so  long  had  haunted  him  with  hints  of  its 
approach,  rose  up  from  his  under-self,  and  possessed 
him  utterly.  And,  oh,  the  glory  of  it,  the  splendour, 
the  intoxication  ! 

In  the  dim  corner  where  she  sat,  the  firelight 
scarcely  showed  her  face,  yet  every  shade  of  expres- 
sion that  flitted  across  her  features  he  saw  unobscured. 
The  sparkling,  silvery  sentences  she  spoke  from  time 
to  time  were  volumes  that  interpreted  life  anew. 
For  years  he  had  pored  over  these  thick  tomes,  but 


xxxiv      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        491 

heavily  and  without  understanding.  The  little  things 
she  said  now  supplied  the  key.  Mind  and  brain 
played  no  part  in  this.  It  was  simply  that  he  heard 
— and  knew.  He  re  -  discovered  her  from  their 
fragments,  piece  by  piece.   .   .   . 

The  general  talk  flowed  past  him  in  a  stream 
of  sound,  cut  up  into  lengths  by  interrupting  con- 
sonants, and  half  ruined  by  this  arbitrary  division  ; 
but  what  she  said  always  seemed  the  living  idea  that 
lay  behind  the  sound.  He  could  not  explain  it 
otherwise.  With  herself,  and  with  Riquette,  and 
possibly  with  little,  dreaming  Minks,  he  sat  firmly  at 
the  centre  of  this  inner  world.  The  others,  even  the 
children,  hovered  about  its  edges,  trying  to  get  in. 
That  tiny  smile  had  flashed  its  secret,  ineffable  ex- 
planation into  him.     Starlight  was  in  his  blood.   .   .   . 

Mother,  for  instance,  he  vaguely  knew,  was 
speaking  of  the  years  they  all  had  lived  in 
Bourcelles,  of  the  exquisite  springs,  of  the  fairy, 
gorgeous  summers.  It  was  the  most  ordinary  talk 
imaginable,  though  it  came  sincerely  from  her  heart. 

'  If  only  you  had  come  here  earlier,'  she  said, 
'  when  the  forest  was  so  thick  with  flowers.'  She 
enumerated  them  one  by  one.  '  Now,  in  the 
autumn,  there  are  so  few  !  ' 

The  little  sparkling  answer  lit  the  forest  glades 
afresh  with  colour,  perfume,  wonder  : — 

*  But  the  autumn  flowers,  I  think,  are  the 
sweetest ;  for  they  have  the  beauty  of  all  the 
summer  in  them.' 

A  slight  pause  followed,  and  then  all  fell  to 
explaining  the  shining  little  sentence  until  its  lustre 
dimmed  and  disappeared  beneath  the  smother  of 
their  words.  In  himself,  however,  who  heard  them 
not,  a  new  constellation  swam  above  the  horizon  of 


492        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

his  inner  world.  Riquette  looked  slyly  up  and 
blinked.  She  purred  more  deeply,  but  she  made 
no  stupid  sign.   .  .  . 

And  Daddy  mentioned  then  the  forest  spell  that 
captured  the  entire  village  with  its  peace  and  softness 
— '  all  so  rough  and  big  and  tumbled,  and  yet 
every  detail  so  exquisitely  finished  and  thought  out, 
you  know.' 

Out  slipped  the  softest  little  fairy  phrase  imagin- 
able from  her  dim  corner  then  : — 

'  Yes,  like  hand-made  things — you  can  almost  see 
the  hand  that  made  them.' 

And  Rogers  started  so  perceptibly  that  Jimbo 
shifted  his  weight  a  little,  thinking  he  must  be 
uncomfortable.  He  had  surely  used  that  very 
phrase  himself!  It  was  familiar.  Even  when 
using  it  he  remembered  wondering  whence  its 
sweetness  had  dropped  into  his  clumsier  mind. 
Minks  uncrossed  his  legs,  glanced  up  at  him  a 
moment,  then  crossed  them  again.  He  made  this 
sign,  but,  like  Riquette,  he  said  nothing.   .   .  . 

The  stream  flowed  on  and  on.  Some  one  told  a 
story.  There  was  hushed  attentive  listening,  followed 
suddenly  by  bursts  of  laughter  and  delight.  Who 
told  it,  or  what  it  was  about,  Rogers  had  no  notion. 
Monkey  dug  him  in  the  ribs  once  because  apparently 
he  grunted  at  the  wrong  moment,  and  Jimbo  chided 
her  beneath  his  breath — '  Let  him  have  a  nap  if  he 
wants  to  ;  a  man's  always  tired  after  a  long  journey 
like  that  .  .  .  ! '  Some  one  followed  with  another 
story— Minks,  was  it,  this  time  ? — for  Rogers  caught 
his  face,  as  through  a  mist,  turning  constantly  to 
Mother  for  approval.  It  had  to  do  with  a  vision  of 
great  things  that  had  come  to  a  little  insignificant 
woman  on  a  bed  of  sickness.     He   recognised  the 


xxxiv      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        493 

teller  because  he  knew  the  tale  of  old.  The  woman, 
he  remembered,  was  Albinia's  grandmother,  and 
Minks  was  very  proud  of  it. 

*  That's  a  very  nice  story,'  rippled  from  the 
dim  corner  when  it  was  over.  '  For  I  like  every- 
thing so  tiny  that  you  can  find  it  inside  a  shell. 
That's  the  way  to  understand  big  things  and  to  do 
them.' 

And  again  the  phrase  was  as  familiar  to  him  as 
though  he  had  said  it  himself — heard  it,  read  it, 
dreamed  it,  even.  Whatever  its  fairy  source,  he 
knew  it.  His  bewilderment  increased  absurdly.  The 
things  she  said  were  so  ordinary,  yet  so  illuminating, 
though  never  quite  betraying  their  secret  source. 
Where  had  he  heard  them  ?  Where  had  he  met 
this  little  foreign  visitor  ?  Whence  came  the  singular 
certainty  that  she  shared  this  knowledge  with  him, 
and  might  presently  explain  it,  all  clear  as  daylight 
and  as  simple  ?  He  had  the  odd  impression  that  she 
played  with  him,  delayed  purposely  the  moment  of 
revelation,  even  expected  that  he  would  be  the  first 
to  make  it  known.  The  disclosure  was  to  come 
from  himself!  She  provided  him  with  opportunities 
— these  little  sparkling  sentences  !  But  he  hid  in 
his  corner,  silent  and  magically  excited,  afraid  to  take 
the  lead.  These  sentences  were  addressed  to  him. 
There  was  conversation  thus  between  the  two  of 
them  ;  but  his  replies  remained  inaudible.  Thought 
makes  no  sound  ;  its  complete  delivery  is  ever 
wordless.  ...  He  felt  very  big,  and  absurdly  shy. 

It  was  gesture,  however,  that  infallible  shorthand 
of  the  mind,  which  seemed  the  surest  medium  of  this 
mute  delightful  intercourse.  For  each  little  gesture 
that  she  made — unconsciously,  of  course — expressed 
more  than  the  swiftest  language  could  have  compassed 


494        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

in  an  hour.  And  he  noted  every  one  :  the  occasional 
flourish  of  the  little  hands,  the  bending  of  the  grace- 
ful neck,  the  shadowy  head  turned  sideways,  the  lift 
of  one  shoulder,  almost  imperceptible,  and  sometimes 
the  attitude  of  the  entire  body.  To  him  they  were, 
one  and  all,  eloquently  revealing.  Behind  each  little 
gesture  loomed  a  yet  larger  one,  the  scale  increasing 
strangely,  till  his  thoughts  climbed  up  them  as  up  a 
ladder  into  the  region  where  her  ideas  lay  naked 
before  casual  interpretation  clothed  them.  Those, 
he  reflected,  who  are  rich  in  ideas,  but  find  words 
difficult,  may  reveal  themselves  prodigally  in  gesture. 
Expression  of  one  kind  or  another  there  must  be  ; 
yet  lavish  action,  the  language  of  big  souls,  seems  a 
man's  expression  rather  than  a  woman's.  .  .  .  He 
built  up  swiftly,  surely,  solidly  his  interpretation  of 
this  little  foreign  visitor  who  came  to  him  thus 
suddenly  from  the  stars,  whispering  to  his  inmost 
thought,  '  You  must  come  up  to  me.'  The  whole 
experience  dazed  him.  He  sat  in  utter  dumbness, 
shyer  than  a  boy,  but  happier  than  a  singing 
star  !   .  .   .  The  Joy  in  his  heart  was  marvellous. 

Yet  how  could  he  know  all  this  ? 

In  the  intervals  that  came  to  him  like  breathing 
spaces  he  asked  himself  this  childish  question.  How 
could  he  tell  that  this  little  soft  being  with  the  quiet 
unobtrusive  manners  had  noble  and  great  beauty  of 
action  in  her  anywhere  ?  A  few  pretty  phrases,  a 
few  significant  gestures,  these  were  surely  a  slight 
foundation  to  build  so  much  upon  !  Was  there,  then, 
some  absolute  communion  of  thought  between  the 
two  of  them  such  as  his  cousin's  story  tried  to 
show  ?  And  had  their  intercourse  been  running  on 
for  years,  neither  of  them  aware  of  it  in  the  daytime  ? 
Was  this  intimate  knowledge  due  to  long  acquaint- 


xxxiv      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        495 

ance  ?  Had  her  thought  been  feeding  him  perhaps 
since  childhood  even  ? 

In  the  pause  of  his  temporary  lunacy  he  asked 
himself  a  dozen  similar  questions,  but  before  the  sign 
of  any  answer  came  he  was  off  again,  sweeping  on 
outstretched  wings  among  the  stars.  He  drank  her 
in.  He  knew.  What  was  the  good  of  questions  ? 
A  thirsty  man  does  not  stop  midway  in  his  draught 
to  ask  when  his  thirst  began,  its  cause,  or  why  the 
rush  of  liquid  down  his  throat  is  satisfying.  He 
knows,  and  drinks.  It  seemed  to  Henry  Rogers, 
ordinary  man  of  business  and  practical  affairs,  that 
some  deep  river  which  so  long  had  flowed  deep  out 
of  sight,  hidden  below  his  daily  existence,  rose  now 
grandly  at  the  flood.  He  had  heard  its  subterranean 
murmurs  often.  Here,  in  the  Den,  it  had  reached 
his  lips  at  last.  And  he  quenched  his  thirst.  .  .  . 
His  thought  played  round  her  without  ceasing,  like 
flowing  water.   .   .   . 

This  idea  of  flux  grew  everywhere  about  him. 
There  was  fluid  movement  in  this  world  within  a 
world.  All  life  was  a  flowing  past  of  ceaseless 
beauty,  wonder,  splendour  ;  it  was  doubt  and 
question  that  dammed  the  rush,  causing  that  stop- 
page which  is  ugly,  petty,  rigid.  His  being  flowed 
out  to  mingle  with  her  own.  It  was  all  inevitable,  and 
he  never  really  doubted  once.  Only  before  long  he 
would  be  compelled  to  act — to  speak — to  tell  her  what 
he  felt,  and  hear  her  dear,  dear  answer.  .  .  .  The 
excitement  in  him  became  more  and  more  difficult  to 
control.  Already  there  was  strain  and  tension  below 
his  apparent  outer  calmness.  Life  in  him  burst 
forward  to  a  yet  greater  life  than  he  had  ever 
known.   .   .  . 

The  others — it  was  his  cousin's  voice  this  time — 


496        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

were  speaking  of  the  Story,  and  of  his  proposed 
treatment  of  it  in  its  larger  version  as  a  book.  Daddy 
was  saying,  apparently,  that  it  must  fail  because  he 
saw  no  climax  for  it.  The  public  demanded  a  cumu- 
lative interest  that  worked  up  to  some  kind  of  thrill- 
ing denouement  that  they  called  a  climax,  whereas  his 
tale  was  but  a  stretch  of  life,  and  of  very  ordinary 
life.  And  Life,  for  the  majority,  knew  no  such 
climax.  How  could  he  manage  one  without  invent- 
ing something  artificial  ? 

'  But  the  climax  of  life  comes  every  day  and  every 
minute,'  he  heard  her  answer — and  how  her  little 
voice  rang-  out  above  the  others  like  a  bell ! — '  when 
you  deny  yourself  for  another,  and  that  other  does 
not  even  know  it.  A  day  is  lost  that  does  not  pin 
at  least  one  sweet  thought  against  each  passing  hour.' 

And  his  inner  construction  took  a  further  prodigi- 
ous leap,  as  the  sentence  showed  him  the  grand  and 
simple  motive  of  her  being.  It  had  been  his  own  as 
well,  though  he  had  stupidly  bungled  it  in  his  search 
to  find  something  big  enough  to  seem  worth  doing. 
She,  he  divined,  found  neighbours  everywhere,  losing 
no  time.  He  had  known  a  few  rare,  exquisite  souls 
who  lived  for  others,  but  here,  close  beside  him  at 
last,  was  one  of  those  still  rarer  souls  who  seem  born 
to — die  for  others.  .  .  .  They  give  so  unsparingly 
of  their  best.  .  .  .  To  his  imaginative  interpretation 
of  her  he  gave  full  rein.  .  .  .  And  it  was  instan- 
taneous as  creation.  .   .  . 

The  voices  of  Minks  and  Mother  renewed  the 
stream  of  sound  that  swept  by  him  then,  though  he 
caught  no  words  that  were  comparable  in  value  to 
these  little  singing  phrases  that  she  used  from  time 
to  time.  Jimbo,  bored  by  the  grown-up  talk  that 
took  the  place  of  expected  stories,  had  fallen  asleep 


xxxiv       A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        497 

upon  his  shoulder  ;  Monkey's  hair,  as  usual,  was  in 
his  eyes  ;  he  sat  there  listening  and  waiting  with  a 
heart  that  beat  so  loudly  he  thought  the  children 
must  feel  it  and  ask  him  what  was  the  matter. 
Jinny  stirred  the  peat  from  time  to  time.  The 
room  was  full  of  shadows.  But,  for  him,  the  air 
grew  brighter  every  minute,  and  in  this  steady 
brilliance  he  saw  the  little  figure  rise  and  grow  in 
grandeur  till  she  filled  all  space. 

'  You  called  it  "  getting  out "  while  the  body  is 
asleep,'  came  floating  through  the  air  through  the 
sound  of  Jimbo's  breathing,  '  whereas  /  called  it 
getting  away  from  self  while  personal  desire  is  asleep. 
But  the  idea  is  the  same.   .   .   .' 

His  cousin's  words  that  called  forth  this  criticism 
he  had  not  heard.  It  was  only  her  sentence  that 
seemed  to  reach  him, 

From  the  river  of  words  and  actions  men  call  life 
she  detained,  it  seemed  to  him,  certain  that  were 
vital  and  important  in  some  symbolical  sense  ;  she 
italicised  them,  made  them  her  own — then  let  them 
go  to  join  the  main  stream  again.  This  selection 
was  a  kind  of  genius.  The  river  did  not  overwhelm 
her  as  it  overwhelms  most,  because  the  part  of  it 
she  did  not  need  for  present  action  she  ignored, 
while  yet  she  swam  in  the  whole  of  it,  shirking 
nothing. 

This  was  the  way  he  saw  her — im-mediately.  And, 
whether  it  was  his  own  invention,  or  whether  it  was  the 
divination  of  a  man  in  the  ecstasy  of  sudden  love,  it 
was  vital  because  he  felt  it,  and  it  was  real  because  he 
believed  it.  Then  why  seek  to  explain  the  amazing 
sense  of  intimacy,  the  certainty  that  he  had  known 
her  always  ?  The  thing  was  there  ;  explanation  could 
bring  it  no  nearer.      He  let  the  explanations  go  their 

2  K 


498        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

way ;  they  floated  everywhere  within  reach  ;  he  had 
only  to  pocket  them  and  take  them  home  for  study 
at  his  leisure  afterwards — with  her. 

'  But,  we  shall  come  to  it  in  time,'  he  caught 
another  flying  sentence  that  reached  him  through  the 
brown  tangle  of  Monkey's  hair.  It  was  spoken 
with  eager  emphasis.  *  Does  not  every  letter  you 
write  begin  with  dear}   .   .   .' 

All  that  she  said  added  something  to  life,  it 
seemed,  like  poetry  which,  he  remembered,  c  enriches 
the  blood  of  the  world.'  The  selections  were  not 
idle,  due  to  chance,  but  belonged  to  some  great 
Scheme,  some  fairy  edifice  she  built  out  of  the  very 
stuff  of  her  own  life.  Oh,  how  utterly  he  under- 
stood and  knew  her.  The  poison  of  intellectuality, 
thank  heaven,  was  not  in  her,  yet  she  created  some- 
how ;  for  all  she  touched,  with  word  or  thought  or 
gesture,  turned  suddenly  alive  in  a  way  he  had  never 
known  before.  The  world  turned  beautiful  and 
simple  at  her  touch.  .   .   . 

Even  the  commonest  things  !  It  was  miraculous, 
at  least  in  its  effect  upon  himself.  Her  simplicity 
escaped  all  signs  of  wumbling.  She  had  no  favourite 
and  particular  Scheme  for  doing  good,  but  did  merely 
what  was  next  her  at  the  moment  to  be  done.  She 
was  good.  In  her  little  person  glowed  a  great 
enthusiasm  for  life.  She  created  neighbours.  And, 
as  the  grandeur  of  her  insignificance  rose  before  him, 
his  own  great  Scheme  for  Disabled  Thingumabobs 
that  once  had  filled  the  heavens,  shrank  down  into 
the  size  of  a  mere  mouse-trap  that  would  go  into  his 
pocket.  In  its  place  loomed  up  another  that  held  the 
beauty  of  the  Stars.  How  little,  when  announcing 
it  to  Minks  weeks  and  weeks  ago,  had  he  dreamed 
the  form  it  was  to  take  ! 


xxxiv      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        499 

And  so,  wrapped  in  this  glory  of  the  stars,  he 
dreamed  on  in  his  corner,  fashioning  this  marvellous 
interpretation  of  a  woman  he  had  never  seen  before, 
and  never  spoken  with.  It  was  all  so  different  to 
ordinary  falling  in  love  at  sight,  that  the  phrase 
never  once  occurred  to  him.  It  was  consummated 
in  a  moment — out  there,  beside  the  fountain  when  he 
saw  her  first,  shadowy,  with  brilliant,  peering  eyes. 
It  seemed  perfect  instantly,  a  recovery  of  something 
he  had  always  known.  And  who  shall  challenge  the 
accuracy  of  his  vision,  or  call  its  sudden  maturity 
impossible  ?  For  where  one  sees  the  surface  only, 
another  sees  the  potentialities  below.  To  believe  in 
these  is  to  summon  them  into  activity,  just  as  to 
think  the  best  of  a  person  ever  brings  out  that  best. 
Are  we  not  all  potential  splendours  ? 

Swiftly,  in  a  second,  he  reviewed  the  shining 
sentences  that  revealed  her  to  him  :  The  l  autumn 
flowers' — she  lived,  then,  in  the  Present,  without 
that  waste  of  energy  which  is  regret !  In  '  a  little 
shell '  lay  the  pattern  of  all  life, — she  saw  the  uni- 
verse in  herself  and  lived,  thus,  in  the  Whole !  To 
be  *  out '  meant  forgetting  self ;  and  life's  climax  is 
at  every  minute  of  the  day — she  understood,  that  is, 
the  growth  of  the  soul,  due  to  acceptance  of  what 
every  minute  brings,  however  practical,  dull,  un- 
interesting. By  recreating  the  commonest  things, 
she  found  a  star  in  each.  And  her  world  was  made 
up  of  neighbours — for  '  every  letter  that  one  writes 
begins  with  dear  !  ' 

The  Pattern  matured  marvellously  before  his 
eyes  ;  and  its  delicate  embroideries,  far  out  of  sight, 
seemed  the  arabesques  that  yearnings,  hitherto  un- 
fulfilled, had  traced  long  long  ago  with  the  brush 
of  tender  thinking.     Together,  though  at  opposite 

2  k  2 


500        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

ends  of  the  world,  these  two  had  woven  the  great 
Net  of  sympathy,  thought,  and  longing  in  which  at 
last  they  both  were  prisoners  .  .  .  and  with  them 
all  the  earth. 

The  figure  of  Jane  Anne  loomed  before  him  like 
an  ogress  suddenly. 

'  Cousinenry,  will  you  answer  or  will  you  not  ? 
Daddy's  already  asked  you  twenty  times  at  least ! ' 
Then,  below  her  breath,  as  she  bent  over  him,  '  The 
Little  Countess  will  think  you  awf'ly  rude  if  you  go 
to  sleep  and  snore  like  this.' 

He  looked  up.  He  felt  a  trifle  dazed.  For  a 
moment  he  had  forgotten  where  he  was.  How  dark 
the  room  had  grown  !  Only — he  was  sure  he  had 
not  snored. 

'  I  beg  your  pardon,'  he  stammered,  '  but  I  was 
only  thinking — how  wonderful  you — how  wonderful 
it  all  is,  isn't  it  ?    I  was  listening.    I  heard  perfectly.' 

'  You  were  dozing,'  whispered  Monkey.  '  Daddy 
wants  the  Countess  to  tell  you  how  she  knew  the  story 
long  ago,  or  something.     Ecoute  un  peu,  mon  vieux  !  ' 

'  I  should  love  to  hear  it,'  he  said,  louder,  sitting 
up  so  abruptly  in  his  chair  that  Jimbo  tilted  at  a 
dangerous  angle,  though  still  without  waking. 
'  Please,  please  go  on.' 

And  he  listened  then  to  the  quiet,  silvery  language 
in  which  the  little  visitor  described  the  scenery  of 
her  childhood,  when,  without  brothers  or  sisters,  she 
was  forced  to  play  alone,  and  had  amused  herself  by 
imagining  a  Net  of  Constellations  which  she  nailed 
by  shooting  stars  to  four  enormous  pine  trees  that 
grew  across  the  torrent.  She  described  the  great 
mountains  that  enclosed  her  father's  estate,  her  lone- 
liness in  this  giant  garden,  due  to  his  morose  severity 


xxxiv      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        501 

of  character,  her  yearnings  to  escape  and  see  the  big 
world  beyond  the  ridges.  All  her  thought  and  long- 
ing went  to  the  fashioning  of  this  Net,  and  every 
night  she  flung  it  far  across  the  peaks  and  valleys  to 
catch  companions  with  whom  she  might  play.  The 
characters  in  her  fairy  books  came  out  of  the  pages 
to  help  her,  and  sometimes  when  they  drew  it  in,  it 
was  so  heavy  with  the  people  entangled  in  its  meshes 
that  they  could  scarcely  move  it.  But  the  moment 
all  were  out,  the  giant  Net,  relieved  of  their  weight, 
flew  back  into  the  sky.  The  Pleiades  were  its  centre, 
because  she  loved  the  Pleiades  best  of  all,  and  Orion 
pursued  its  bright  shape  with  passion,  yet  could  never 
quite  come  up  with  it. 

*  And  these  people  whom  you  caught,'  whispered 
Rogers  from  his  corner,  listening  to  a  tale  he  knew 
as  well  as  she  did,  c  you  kept  them  prisoners  ? ' 

'  I  first  put  into  them  all  the  things  I  longed  to  do 
myself  in  the  big  world,  and  then  flung  them  back 
again  into  their  homes  and  towns  and  villages ' 

*  Excepting  one,'  he  murmured. 

1  Who  was  so  big  and  clumsy  that  he  broke  the 
meshes  and  so  never  got  away.'  She  laughed,  while 
the  children  stared  at  their  cousin,  wondering  how 
he  knew  as  much  as  she  did.  '  He  stayed  with  me, 
and  showed  me  how  to  make  our  prisoners  useful 
afterwards  by  painting  them  all  over  with  starlight 
which  we  collected  in  a  cave.  Then  they  went  back 
and  dazzled  others  everywhere  by  their  strange, 
alluring  brilliance.  We  made  the  whole  world  over 
in  this  way ' 

'  Until  you  lost  him.' 

'  One  cloudy  night  he  disappeared,  yes,  and  I 
never  found  him  again.  There  was  a  big  gap 
between    the    Pleiades    and    Orion    where    he    had 


5o2        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

tumbled  through.  I  named  him  Orion  after  that  ; 
and  I  would  stand  at  night  beneath  the  four  great 
pine  trees  and  call  and  call,  but  in  vain.  "  You  must 
come  up  to  me  !     You  must  come  up  to  me  I '     I 

called,  but  got  no  answer ' 

'  Though  you  knew  quite  well  where  he  had 
fallen  to,  and  that  he  was  only  hiding ' 

*  Excuse  me,  but  how  did  she  know  ? '  inquired 
Jinny  abruptly. 

The  Little  Countess  laughed.  *  I  suppose — 
because  the  threads  of  the  Net  were  so  sensitive  that 
they  went  on  quivering  long  after  he  tumbled  out, 
and  so  betrayed  the  direction ' 

'  And  afterwards,  when  you  got  older,  Grafin,* 
interrupted  Daddy,  who  wished  his  cousin  to  hear 
the  details  of  the  extraordinary  coincidence,  '  you 
elaborated  your  idea ' 

*  Yes,  that  thought  and  yearning  always  fulfil 
themselves  somewhere,  somehow,  sooner  or  later,' 
she  continued.  '  But  I  kept  the  imagery  of  my  Star 
Net  in  which  all  the  world  lies  caught,  and  I  used 
starlight  as  the  symbol  of  that  sympathy  which  binds 
every  heart  to  every  other  heart.  At  my  father's 
death,  you  see,  I  inherited  his  property.  I  escaped 
from  the  garden  which  had  been  so  long  my  prison, 
and  I  tried  to  carry  out  in  practical  life  what  I  had 
dreamed  there  as  a  child.  I  got  people  together, 
where  I  could,  and  formed  Thinkers'  Guilds — people, 
that  is,  who  agreed  to  think  beauty,  love,  and  toler- 
ance at  given  hours  in  the  day,  until  the  habit,  once 
formed,  would  run  through  all  their  lives,  and  they 
should  go  about  as  centres  of  light,  sweetening  the 
world.  Few  have  riches,  fewer  still  have  talent,  but 
all  can  think.  At  least,  one  would  think  so,  wouldn't 
one  ? ' — with  a  smile  and  a  fling  of  her  little  hands. 


xxxiv      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND 


S°3 


She  paused  a  moment,  and  then  went  on  to  describe 
her  failure.  She  told  it  to  them  with  laughter  between 
her  sentences,  but  among  her  listeners  was  one  at  least 
who  caught  the  undertone  of  sadness  in  the  voice. 

'  For,  you  see,  that  was  where  I  made  my  mistake. 
People  would  do  anything  in  the  world  rather  than 
think.  They  would  work,  give  money,  build  schools 
and  hospitals,  make  all  manner  of  sacrifices — only — 
they  would  not  think  ;  because,  they  said,  there  was 
no  visible  result.'  She  burst  out  laughing,  and  the 
children  all  laughed  too. 

'  I  should  think  not  indeed,'  ventured  Monkey, 
but  so  low  that  no  one  heard  her. 

*  And  so  you  went  on  thinking  it  all  alone,'  said 
Rogers  in  a  low  voice. 

'  I  tried  to  write  it  first  as  a  story,'  she  answered 
softly,  '  but  found  that  was  beyond  me  ;  so  I  went  on 
thinking  it  all  alone,  as  you  say ' 

4  Until  the  Pattern  of  your  thought  floated  across 
the  world  to  me,'  said  Daddy  proudly.  '  I  imagined 
I  was  inspired  ;  instead  I  was  a  common,  unoriginal 
plagiarist ! ' 

*  Like  all  the  rest  of  us,'  she  laughed. 

'  Mummie,  what  is  a  plagiarist  ? '  asked  Jinny 
instantly  ;  and  as  Rogers,  her  husband,  and  even 
Minks  came  hurriedly  to  her  aid,  the  spell  of  the 
strange  recital  was  broken,  and  out  of  the  turmoil  of 
voices  the  only  thing  distinctly  heard  was  Mother 
exclaiming  with  shocked  surprise  : — 

*  Why,  it's  ten  o'clock  !  Jimbo,  Monkey,  please 
plagiarise  off  to  bed  at  once !  ' — in  a  tone  that 
admitted  of  no  rejoinder  or  excuses. 

1 A  most  singular  thing,  isn't  it,  Henry  ?'  remarked 
the  author,  coming  across  to  his  side  when  the  lamp 
was  lit  and  the  children  had  said  their  good-nights. 


504        A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND       chap. 

*  I  really  think  we  ought  to  report  it  to  the  Psychical 
Society  as  a  genuine  case  of  thought-transference. 
You  see,  what  people  never  properly  realise  is ' 

But  Henry  Rogers  lost  the  remainder  of  the 
sentence  even  if  he  heard  the  beginning,  for  his 
world  was  in  a  state  of  indescribable  turmoil,  one 
emotion  tumbling  wildly  upon  the  heels  of  another. 
He  was  elated  to  intoxication.  The  room  spun  round 
him.  The  next  second  his  heart  sank  down  into  his 
boots.  He  only  caught  the  end  of  the  words  she 
was  saying  to  Mother  across  the  room  : — 

' .  .  .  but  I  must  positively  go  to-morrow,  I've 
already  stayed  too  long.  So  many  things  are  waiting 
at  home  for  me  to  do.  I  must  send  a  telegram 
and  .   .   .   .' 

His  cousin's  wumbling  drowned  the  rest.  He 
was  quite  aware  that  Rogers  was  not  listening  to  him. 

' .  .  .  your  great  kindness  in  writing  to  him,  and 
then  coming  yourself,'  Mother  was  saying.  '  It's 
such  an  encouragement.  I  can't  tell  you  how  much 
he — we ' 

'  And  you'll  let  me  write  to  you  about  the 
children,'  she  interrupted,  '  the  plans  we  discussed, 
you  know.   .   .   .' 

Rogers  broke  away  from  his  cousin  with  a  leap. 
It  felt  at  least  like  a  leap.  But  he  knew  not  where 
to  go  or  what  to  say.  He  saw  Minks  standing  with 
Jane  Anne  again  by  the  fourneau,  picking  at  his  ear. 
By  the  open  window  with  Mother  stood  the  little 
visitor.  She  was  leaving  to-morrow.  A  torturing 
pain  like  twisting  knives  went  through  him.  The 
universe  was  going  out !  .  .  .  He  saw  the  starry  sky 
behind  her.  Daddy  went  up  and  joined  them,  and 
he  was  aware  that  the  three  of  them  talked  all  at 
once  for  what  seemed  an  interminable  time,  though 


xxxiv      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND        505 

all  he  heard  was  his  cousin's  voice  repeating  at 
intervals,  '  But  you  cant  send  a  telegram  before 
eight  o'clock  to-morrow  morning  in  any  case  ;  the 
post  is  closed.  .  .   .' 

And  then,  suddenly,  the  puzzle  reeled  and  danced 
before  his  eyes.  It  dissolved  into  a  new  and  startling 
shape  that  brought  him  to  his  senses  with  a  shock. 
There  had  been  a  swift  shuffling  of  the  figures. 

Minks  and  his  cousin  were  helping  her  into  her 
cloak.     She  was  going. 

One  of  them — he  knew  not  which — was  offering 
politely  to  escort  her  through  the  village. 

It  sounded  like  his  own  sentence  of  exile,  almost 
of  death.  Was  he  forty  years  of  age,  or  only  fifteen  ? 
He  felt  awkward,  tongue-tied,  terrified. 

They  were  already  in  the  passage.  Mother  had 
opened  the  door  into  the  yard. 

'  But  your  way  home  lies  down  the  hill,'  he  heard 
the  silver  voice,  '  and  to  go  with  me  you  must  come 
up.      I  can  easily ' 

Above  the  leaves  of  the  plane  tree  he  saw  the 
stars.  He  saw  Orion  and  the  Pleiades.  The  Fairy 
Net  flung  in  and  caught  him.     He  found  his  voice. 

In  a  single  stride  he  was  beside  her.  Minks 
started  at  his  sudden  vehemence  and  stepped  aside. 

'  /  will  take  you  home,  Countess,  if  I  may,'  and 
his  tone  was  so  unnecessarily  loud  and  commanding 
that  Mother  turned  and  stared.  '  Our  direction  lies 
together.     I  will  come  up — with  you.' 

She  did  not  even  look  at  him.  He  saw  that  tiny 
smile  that  was  like  the  flicker  of  a  star — no  more. 
But  he  heard  her  answer.     It  seemed  to  fill  the  sky. 

*  Thank  you.     I  might  lose  my  way  alone.' 

And,  before  he  realised  how  she  managed  it,  they 
had  crossed  the  cobbled  yard,  Daddy  was  swinging 


506      A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND    ch.  xxx.v 

away  downhill  towards  the  carpenter's,  and  Minks 
behind  them,  at  the  top  of  the  stone  steps,  was  saying 
his  last  good-night  to  Mother.  With  the  little  visitor 
beside  him,  he  passed  the  singing  fountain  and  led  her 
down  the  deserted  village  street  beneath  the  autumn 
stars. 

Three  minutes  later  they  were  out  of  sight  .  .  . 
when  Minks  came  down  the  steps  and  picked  his  way 
among  the  shadows  after  Daddy,  who  had  the  latch- 
key of  the  carpenter's  house.  He  ran  to  overtake 
him. 

And  he  ran  upon  his  toes 
As  softly  as  a  saying  does, 
For  so  the  saying  goes  ! 

His  thoughts  were  very  active,  but  as  clear  as 
day.  He  was  thinking  whether  German  was  a  difficult 
language  to  acquire,  and  wondering  whether  a  best 
man  at  a  wedding  ought  to  wear  white  gloves  or  not. 
He  decided  to  ask  Albinia.  He  wrote  the  letter  that 
very  night  before  he  went  to  sleep. 

And,  while  he  slept,  Orion  pursued  the  Pleiades 
across  the  sky,  and  numerous  shooting  stars  fastened 
the  great  Net  of  thought  and  sympathy  close  over 
little  Bourcelles. 


THE    END 


Printed  in  Great  Britain  by  R.  &  R.  Ci.ark,  Limited,  Edinburgh. 


By  ALGERNON  BLACKWOOD 

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THE  EDUCATION  OF  UNCLE  PAUL 

GUARDIAN. — "  Rare  and  exquisite  book.  .  .  .  It  is  all  of  a  strange 
loveliness,  and,  despite  its  aerial  quality,  of  real  sincerity." 

TIMES.— "Wholly  delightful  book." 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.—11  The  book  is  as  delightful,  as  poetical, 
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A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND 

(THE  BOOK  THAT  'UNCLE  PAUL'  WROTE) 

WESTMINSTER  GAZETTE.  —  "  A  book  which  every  lover  of  Mr. 
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and  the  largeness." 

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again  one  reads  a  book  that  gives  one  complete  joy,  and  then  analysis  and 
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world  into  the  region  of  haunting  and  half-remembered  things." 

DAIL  Y  EXPRESS. — "Jimbo  is  a  perfect  thing,  a  dainty  masterpiece- 
We  have  never  read  a  book  quite  like  it.  We  have  rarely  read  a  book  that 
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LONDON  :   MACMILLAN  AND   CO.,  Ltd. 

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THE  WAVE :   An  Egyptian  Aftermath 

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